Shadows Fall
by Unknown Shore
Summary: Order 66, a couple of Jedi, a drug dealer, a hapless pilot, and a Master of Teräs Käsi can only mean one thing... a misadventure. 409. It's a long way to fall...
1. Prologue

Yep... I've returned to the crazy world of fanfic... somebody slap me. And oh _God_, it's a _Star Wars _fic. We are in huge trouble.

Potential spoilers for _Revenge of the Sith _and _Shatterpoint. _This is a slight AU in that Order 66 takes place over a few weeks rather than just five minutes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that is of _Star Wars_; it is all belongeth to George Lucas, who has imbibed a large amount of my paychecks when it comes to movies, music, and video games.

Note: The only prequel-era book I've read is _Shatterpoint_, so I've basically drawn my own conclusions regarding how the Jedi pick up their padawans/younglings – some of it's not too different from the Jude Watson canon, but if any of the differences bother you, just chalk it up to further AU-ism.

You can basically subtitle this fic "Attack of the Background Characters." It features two background Jedi, awarrior from an obscure video game, a couple of OCs, and Elan Sleazebaggano. You can expect _plenty _of cameos to top it off. Fun? Maybe. Crazy? Absolutely. Intrigued yet? No? Oh, well. Can't say I didn't try.

Master Windu & his Jedi have left to ensure that Chancellor Palpatine surrenders power. The Jedi Temple is in good hands…

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_Prologue - Depa_

His visits often coincided with Master Windu's.

The older Jedi always greeted him with a solemn nod before returning his attention to the woman on the bed. Words were rarely exchanged; pleasantries at best, sometimes discussion of temple goings-on or the latest missions.

They never spoke of her anymore. Instead, they talked over her, each one sharply aware of her empty presence but unwilling to comment on it. Master Windu had said his piece when he first brought her home, and now an uneasy truce existed between the men. Each wanted only the best for her, and that was enough to make them bitter allies.

Master Windu invariably stayed on long after the younger man departed, perhaps hoping to reach into darkness and bring his former padawan back from the void. He kept a quiet vigil throughout the long night of the Clone War, lending her the presence of a friend and father. It was the best he could do - the best any of them could do.

Thus, Joclad Danva was somewhat surprised to find the man absent from the tiny room that Depa Billaba now called home. Master Windu was generally by her side in the evenings, silently reading the news or contemplating her still features. She was alone on this particular night, hands folded across the covers of her cot. The room smelled faintly of Chalactan bree vines, their sweet fragrance something Joclad had often associated with her. Such a scent was likely Master Windu's doing, carrying on the task that Adi Gallia – Depa's longtime friend on the Council – had started two years prior.

Joclad took a seat by her bed, reaching out to her through the Force and finding only dark glass reflected back at him. The first time he'd visited her like this, he feared he might tip into a black ocean if he looked too long. There was no trace of Depa Billaba, not then and not now.

_I miss you, pirate, _he thought at her, not really expecting a response. Depa simply lay there, silent and empty and full of darkness.

Master Windu's words came back to him as Joclad studied her. _I believe she was conflicted when she left, and dwelled on that conflict in the jungle._

_Conflicted… my fault. If I hadn't pulled that stunt on the launch pad before she left… _

He bowed his head, immediately banishing such thoughts. It did no good to dwell on the past; he possessed no power to change it.

He glanced around idly. None of the healers were present; they had wounded Knights and sick younglings to tend to. He casually took up her hand, noting how small and dainty it seemed. Faint calluses still decorated parts of her palm, the legacy of more than two decades of lightsaber combat. Even now, two years after her collapse on Haruun Kal, her hands still vaguely felt like those of a Jedi Knight.

But those calluses were fading quickly, along with any real hope that Joclad, Master Windu, and the rest of the Order held for Depa.

He studied her face, peaceful in its repose. The healer had given her something to keep her eyes closed; the half-lidded stare she produced without it unnerved far too many. He reached out with his left hand and touched the scar left behind by her forcible removal of the Greater Mark of Illumination. The tissue felt rough against his palm, an odd contrast to the silkiness of her forehead. In another life, Depa might have snapped awake, grabbed his wrist, and sent him flying across the room.

That life was long gone.

He took up her hand again, examining her knuckles. "Are you in there somewhere?" He dropped the Coruscanti accent he tended to maintain in the temple and stared pleadingly at her face. "Do you even know I'm _here_?"

His voice sounded out of place in the quiet serenity of the little room. After her return from Haruun Kal, the healers had specifically set aside this chamber for Depa in hopes that she might fully recover and come out of her stupor. One had to pass strict emotional tests to visit with her, in order to expose her only to calm, to peace, to the way of the Jedi. Joclad thought it a noble idea, though Force knew _he _probably wouldn't pass all those tests if he had to take them today.

Fortunately, the Clone War had requisitioned nearly every available healer in the temple for some task or another, and Depa was left alone. As a result, Joclad received no trouble when trying to visit.

It was the same every time he saw her: Depa did not answer him. Nothing changed in the room, and nothing changed in the Force.

Joclad nodded slightly. This was no different from his other visits: he ended up doing all the talking. "I'll be dispatched to Rhen Var to help Meridian with the stand there," he told her, absently massaging her palm. "I've been on field duty the last few months – you can call me General Danva. What do you think of that?"

He paused, letting the words sink in. If Depa were aware of anything, surely she must recognize the lunacy of the Council sending the _Code-breaker _out onto a battlefield as a ranked Republic officer. Joclad, always a trifle too proud of his skills, now had genuine pull within the galaxy's governing body, and thousands of clone soldiers to call his troops.

Depa might have smiled. She might have screeched.

Joclad would never know.

"I got the commission after my… _work_… on Orto." If one could refer to the catastrophic defeat as work, then Joclad felt he was severely in need of a pay raise. "Being the only survivor has its perks, though. They called me heroic and gave me a medal… and now I get to go to Rhen Var."

He forced a smile for her silent friend. "Master Drallig can't decide whether he's horrified or proud of me. He's making supper tonight to celebrate. I'll be sick for weeks."

The Depa he remembered might have chuckled at this, and then slipped him something from the healer's for the indigestion that would inevitably follow. She might have taken his arms on the landing pad and said _Joclad, the Force will be with you - make sure you bring it back. _

He supposed it was as close as she could get to saying _come home safe. _

"You need to snap out of this," he said abruptly. "We need you. Jedi are being cut down in battle, and we're - it's not _good _for us. Orto – what happened on Orto--"

He paused, and put her hand down. _Better not risk upsetting her_. "I'm not supposed to tell you these things, because it might damage your head. Well, you've been napping for two years, so I gather your head is already damaged enough. We are losing this war, Depa." He looked down, and took a deep breath. "The clones are losing on the battlefield. We're outnumbered, though no one wants to speak of it... and it is being lost most of all by the Jedi. We are not meant for this sort of thing."

She knew this, though. The events of Haruun Kal were hardly a secret, and Master Windu freely acknowledged his former padawan's half-sane observations while training his new generals. _Depa was right_, he'd say. _If only she were here to help us make it so. _

Instead, Depa lay in a coma, and the Jedi slowly realized that war's destructive forces reached far beyond the battlefield.

"It's destroying us," Joclad said. "Slowly. The killing, the madness, the endlessness. The clones don't feel it, and regular military personnel - but _we _feel it. _I _feel it. It's always in my head, just like the arena. The nightmares never went away, you know. You promised they would, but they didn't." Speaking to her like this eased the pressure in his mind, though he scarcely knew if she heard him or not. "It's just... it seems so hopeless at times. I come here and all is as it should be, though the temple is nearly emptied. But out there..."

He didn't finish the thought as a familiar presence pinged gently in his mind. A moment later, his comlink beeped. He sighed and picked it up. "Danva."

"Hey, Code-breaker, dinner_."_

Master Drallig had apparently finished scraping a meal together. "I'll be there soon," Joclad replied, shutting the little device down and looping it back onto his belt. He was already dressed for travel in his typical dark tunic and light trousers; he'd receive a better cold-weather uniform once he arrived at Rhen Var.

"That was Cin," he said, standing up. He replaced Depa's hand on the bed and tried to smile. "Time for a last meal, and then I'll be off to the _Redeemer. _I'll see you when--" He paused, troubled by the sudden wariness that flooded him. When would he see Depa again?

The Force chose not to tell him, instead leaving him with a foggy notion of something not quite right going on. He tried to peer around the veils, but only succeeded in catching flashes of a bleak, frozen landscape not unlike that of Rhen Var. He gave up, the odd sensation curling through his mind and tracing uneasily down his back.

Something didn't feel right.

But then again, nothing ever felt _right _anymore. "I... I don't know when I'll see you again, Depa. It may be... some time."

_Am I going to die on Rhen Var? _He shivered, imagining Dack stumbling upon his corpse in the snow. "If you wake up, come find me. I could use a sparring partner again." _And we have unfinished business, you and I…. _

He brought his hand to her cheek, brushed his fingers ever so slightly against her flesh. In another world - a better world - she might have opened her eyes and smiled at him, or at the very least reacted to the sensation. But there was only her skin against his, and the silent darkness that threatened to drive him mad – madder than he already was. "Goodbye, Depa. May the Force be with you."

He left the sanctity of her little room, that strange feeling still playing about in his mind. He shook it off, though, and went on to visit with Cin Drallig.

Duty called.


	2. Departures and Farewells

**Disclaimer: **The OC, Dack Meridian, is my main man, but everything else is just borrowed.

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_1. Departures and Farewells_

"You just... sounded a charge?" Joclad stared at Dack Meridian's hologram in astonishment as Cin Drallig snickered in the background.

Dack shrugged, brushing some snow off his Republic-issued uniform. In the shimmering aquamarine of the hologram, his mismatched eyes were both the same dull blue shade, something that likely would not displease him.

"Look, General Danva, when you get here, you can take over." Dack pointed at himself. "I'm just substituting – and why did _you _get a farewell feast?"

"Because Master Drallig got sick of Serra complaining about his cooking and – _stop _changing the subject. You're a general, aren't you?" Joclad looked into the box of take-out Mantellian and spotted a morsel he fully intended on consuming before he left. As it turned out, Cin's idea of treating his former-padawan-turned-general to dinner mercifully did _not_ include his own cooking, and thus Joclad had emptied out six of the bright red containers.

"No, I'm _Acting General_. You know very well Myri was the brains of this operation. I just kept the troops amused." Dack turned around abruptly and started waving his hands at someone out of view. "No! Don't put the fuel in the--"

Dack cringed away, and the hologram rippled as something out of sight exploded. Joclad massaged his temples and peered at the hologram from underneath his hands. "How _did _you get assigned to Rhen Var?"

"He's got no head for tactics," Cin said, scraping the last bit of meat off his plate. He pointed his fork at Joclad in warning. "Better get moving, or he'll destroy the planet before breakfast."

"I heard that," Dack said gruffly, "and I'm _not _a tactician. I'm the undercover man, damn you all. I should be infiltrating Dooku's palace."

"Dooku's dead."

"Which is why I should have been assigned there before Skywalker offed him. I could have changed the whole course of the war!" Dack abruptly wheeled around in alarm. "No, don't--oh, _Force_, they're going to kill us all." He looked back, eyes wide. "Tell Master Windu the pilots are defective."

Joclad gave up on dinner and pushed the box away. "I don't think the Rhen Var pilot contingent is comprised of clones, Dack."

"Oh." A short nod as his friend absorbed the information. Joclad took heart in the fact that Dack looked no more harried than usual, though his light brown hair reflected a shaggy unkemptness that the normally spotless Corellian would not have permitted in the temple.

Dack shrugged. "That explains the idiocy. Right. Well, I'm off to clean up the pieces of the ARC unit. There's a nasty storm on the way, so I don't think CIS is coming on tonight. See you soon!" Dack gave them both a cheery, immensely fake smile, and signed off.

The snickering from his former master started to wear on Joclad's nerves, and he picked up his robe. It draped reassuringly over the dark fabric of his tunic. "He's right, you know."

Cin smothered a chortle. "I agree; that boy should be in a sideshow somewhere, not running around on a battlefield. I can't believe Windu sent him to Rhen Var, Myri or not."

The two men started walking toward the door, leaving the remains of Cin's farewell dinner spread out on the table. Joclad had no doubt that Cin's current padawan, Serra, and her friend Bene would come sneaking by later on and devour it. Serra loathed Master Drallig's cooking as much as Joclad but had learned to schedule her sparring matches with Bene right in the middle of the prescribed dinnertimes – thus giving herself a way out.

"Dack is capable," Joclad said, though he - along with the rest of the temple – had no idea what Master Windu meant to accomplish by sending _Dack Meridian _to a battlefield, especially one as savage as Rhen Var. "Dack _does _have experience in open combat," he pointed out, feeling he ought to defend his friend. "Some of the newer Knights are sorely lacking in this, and—"

Cin palmed the door, and they stepped into the hallway. "Oh, I've heard rave reviews of his performance on Geonosis... all five minutes of it." The tone told Joclad exactly what Cin thought of that performance, and the younger man wisely held his tongue. Twenty-odd years of companionship, and Joclad _still _couldn't win an argument with the man. Nor did he try.

"I assume they think he's got a lucky streak, and they're hedging all bets on that," Cin continued, adjusting his dark-brown tabards. He gestured toward the sparsely populated corridor. "And so we have this: empty hallways and parole officers being requisitioned for war. Meanwhile, _Serra_ has better field sense than Meridian. _You _had better field sense when you were about nine years old… though I don't know if you've improved since then."

Joclad chose to ignore the jab. "I always was an advanced child. And Serra – well, Serra is… Serra."

His old master snorted and waved a hand over the hangar lock. The door slid open, and Cin nearly collided with an excited padawan. "There now, boy! What's the matter?"

"Kenobi's engaged Grievous! We think he's winning!"

The padawan dashed off in a most un-Jedi-like display of enthusiasm, apparently not caring to hear Cin's response. Joclad's mood abruptly lightened; if Grievous were stopped, the war might come to a halt right then and there. He felt the rest of the Jedi Temple coming alive as news of the encounter spread; hope flickering to life in the Knights, the Masters, and the padawans. _Kenobi is fighting him_! _First the head_ - Dooku - _and now the torso_ - Grievous. Joclad picked up his pace somewhat, eager for more news. _All we need now..._

"The legs," Cin murmured, either reading Joclad's expression or picking it up through the remains of their training bond. "Harder to kill, and they support the rest."

"One step at a time, then." Joclad paused as he received a snicker and a waggling finger. "Oh, don't even..."

"What?" Cin grinned, clapping a hand on Joclad's shoulder and squeezing warmly. "Your word choice was splendid. Almost... inspired. Ah, there's your ship."

_Damn, they sent the little one. _Joclad looked at his issued transport somewhat distrustfully, noting the scorch marks on the side of its hull. Paint jobs were an expensive luxury for a government at war, and as such the smaller vessels in the fleet had acquired a shabby appearance.

A clone trooper saluted as they approached, and then vanished inside the ship to warm it up.

Joclad stood with Cin to the side, part of him wanting to wait until further word of Kenobi's adventure came through. Instead, he turned to Cin. "You _will _keep me posted about Grievous."

"You don't need to mind-trick me, boy. Now, let's have a look at you," Cin said, giving him the classic master-padawan once-over that Joclad tended to fail dismally. Nothing escaped the sharp blue eyes of Cin Drallig, even after his admittedly troublesome padawan stepped up into the ranks of the Jedi Knights. After all, Joclad represented _him _as much as the temple when he went off on missions, and if a single strand of black hair were out of place, Master Drallig would certainly let him know about it.

For once, Cin shrugged. "Can't find anything wrong with you, but why the topknot? The fighting won't start until after you get there, or so Meridian promised."

Joclad shrugged, poking at the part of his hair drawn back into an elaborate, Laeraen-style twist-loop at the back of his head. "It makes me feel better?"

Cin nodded. "Best make it quick, then. Don't let Meridian blow anything else up, or Master Fisto will be disappointed." He checked his chrono. "I think I'll see if Serra and Bene are sparring at all, or just swapping bad jokes like they were last time."

Smart-mouthed Serra, joking around with quiet, passive Bene? Joclad couldn't hold back a chuckle. Cin glared at him. "It's hardly funny. That girl does everything I ask, but if Serra gets her claws into her – that's just what we need, another willful padawan running around…"

"Well, you do have a habit of taking on _interesting _projects," Joclad said, remembering a time not too long ago when Cin had moaned about _him _to his fellow Knights: _Danva's going to get me killed. _"But _this _willful padawan will have Rhen Var cleaned up in a few days."

_Or will I?_

The odd feeling came over him once more, and this time Cin appeared to sense it. Joclad felt the older man reaching out to him through the Force, using a familiar, calming touch that had kept him quiet in his first days at the Jedi Temple so many years ago.

"Joclad?" Cin drew himself up and did his best to look imperiously his former padawan's eyes – not the easiest thing to do when the other stood a half-head taller. "What's the matter?"

Joclad tried to shake the feeling of unease off again, identifying its place of origin as somewhere in his stomach. If Cin had actually cooked dinner, he could have attributed the sensation to that. "I feel... strange. Like something is going to happen."

The normally gruff swordsman regarded him with something very much like paternal wisdom - or at least, Joclad's vague conception of it. "Something _is _going to happen, Joclad. Something always happens. That is the nature of the Force, the nature of life."

"I know, it's just... I can't quite feel it. Or grasp it. I feel _something _is going to happen, but it's not like anything the Force has ever told me before. I don't think it's foresight… mine's not that good." He hesitated, wondering just how much to feed Cin. "I first sensed it when visiting Depa."

Cin's expression went from wise to knowing within a nanosecond. "Ah. Well, Depa's current state is enough to give anyone odd feelings. Don't look at me like that. The woman is--" He jammed a finger into Joclad's face. "--_do not _make that face at me, young man, or I'll loose Serra on you."

Joclad sniffed. "Remember what happened last time you tried that?"

"I told you to spar with her a little, not send her to the healers! But she's gotten better since then – wants a rematch." Cin sounded pleased, but then took on a serious tone when he saw the look on the younger man's face. "Joclad, what happened to Depa was unfortunate, and between us… I believe there may be something going on in that broken mind of hers. Something the rest of us can't quite reach."

Joclad nodded. Maybe underneath the black sea that separated Depa from the outside world, there really _was _something happening.

Something he would never see.

Cin clasped his hands in front of his belt. "You two were friends, and after what happened on Geonosis…" He cleared his throat, and Joclad looked at the floor. Cin pointedly avoided detailing _that _little escapade as he continued: "…your… close mental proximity may have you slightly more attuned to her than others. You may have picked up something residual from her, even if you can't reach her directly."

If that were the case, it certainly explained Master Windu's bleak moods as of late. Joclad played the idea over in his head, and found that he liked it. It was sane, almost completely rational. He nodded, deciding to agree with Cin for the time being and deal with it later - if the odd feeling remained. Perhaps a trip to a battleground was all he needed to clear his head.

_Yes, Joclad, _his inner self scoffed, _and maybe all Depa needs to wake up is some of Master Yoda's gruel. Actually, they've probably tried that already._

Cin clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't feel anything ominous? Then go to Rhen Var. Save Meridian. We'll be here when you come back."

Joclad nodded and headed for his transport, vowing to stow his insecurities until Rhen Var was dealt with.

"Just think…" Cin grinned as Joclad turned around, "…after this war ends you can go back to Bunduki."

Now he _knew_ Cin was just trying to make him feel better. No one really approved of Joclad's immersion in the fighting art of teräs käsi, but the Council had put up with it after he made it quite clear he had no intention of stopping – and after Depa convinced them it was indeed beneficial to Knight Danva's continued proficiency as a Jedi.

She'd left out the bit about it being necessary to his continued mental stability, a detail he'd never thanked her for.

_I wish I'd thanked you now, Depa. _

He hid his discontent well. "Bunduki," he said. "I'd like that."

_And I will face Phow Ji again. _His injuries from what turned out to be his final match had not allowed him to return to competition before the Geonosis mission, and the wide-spread mayhem of the Clone War provided no time for something as trivial as a teräs käsi championship. The prospect of fighting under the purple moon once again cheered him, though, and he bowed to his elder companion. "May the Force be with you, Master Drallig."

"It always is, Danva. It always is."

Once aboard the transport, he sat by the window. Cin was still out there, his arms folded sternly across his chest. He gave his former apprentice a disdainful look when Joclad waved, but remained where he was as the transport powered up and lifted off. Even when the Jedi Temple faded to a pinprick of light in a brilliant city planet, Joclad knew his teacher was still there, watching.

_Goodbye, Cin._


	3. Chain of Command

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own anything 'cept for Dack, and he doesn't have any money. And I just realized that Serra is indeed from a video game, but she is not the video game character I mentioned. So really, it's two video game characters in one fic. Two-for-one!

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_2. Chain of Command_

Dack Meridian stood on the edge of an ancient temple and gazed out into a snowstorm.

His clones had called it quits for the night. Rather, _he _had called it quits for the night, commanding his men to stand down and get some rest. The temple was pitted with fissures, and wind and ice dropped in through holes in the roof more often than not, but it offered better shelter than the flimsy tents with which they were equipped. Dack had made a personal vow to his men to get them better winter supplies before the war was through.

The way things were going, he figured that gave him twenty years.

Even the mighty battledroids of CIS had realized the folly of trying to fight it out in this mess and retreated to their headquarters on the other side of the mountain. Dack supposed he was fortunate in that respect. Keeping his regiment of clone troopers happy was one thing - leading them into a fight was completely different. Rhen Var, a difficult planet to navigate by any standards, had granted the Republic forces enough time to ship in the unorthodox but highly effective Joclad Danva and let _him _deal with this fiasco.

Maybe the Force was still with them.

Maybe it was just luck.

Dack smiled into the foul weather, rubbing his upper arms through his insulated uniform. The blue and gray fatigues, while not as comfortable as his typical Jedi garb, kept him warm in the chill and prevented droplets of water from leaking down the front of his shirt. Enough of his troops had complained of ice melting into armor joints for him to move the entire regiment into another of the great halls. _That _had been a project.

He turned his back on the storm and made his way to a group of men. Logres and Maverick stood by the communications array, and Logres waved excitedly when he spotted Dack. "General Meridian, listen to this..."

_General? _It still seemed odd to hear the title attached to him - even if it _was _only for a few more hours.

Logres grinned broadly. "General Kenobi has defeated Grievous!"

Dack almost didn't believe it, but the grin that split his face was mirrored in the faces of the two men standing in front of him. _Grievous gone! _One more step in the war - just one more victory...

_The temple must be in an uproar. And I'm missing it! _

"Ale for everyone!" Dack exclaimed. The men began to cheer, only to weakly fade out when they realized there _was _no ale. He noted this, and pressed his hands together placatingly. "All right, boys, drinks are on the house when we get back. We might not even have to engage those bugs on the ridge."

_And this war will finally be over. _

_And I can go home…_

_-------------------_

"No, Bene, put your blade _up_, not like – _Bene_, now you're just messing around—"

Cin pinched the bridge of his nose lightly as the two young females in front of him sparred – or rather, _pretended _to spar. Serra, at least, wanted a bit of a fight; Bene was clearly not feeling particularly enthusiastic about the entire program and merely parried.

In Cin's opinion, there were few things worse than dueling a Dark Jedi. One of those few things was attempting to guide his padawan and her friend through their motions. Blast it, young women were terribly easy to distract when paired together.

Something nagged at the back of his mind; a vague warning he was not sure how to interpret. "Serra, your form isn't brilliant either. Pull your shoulder back."

"Joclad has _his _shoulder forward when he attacks," she protested, nonetheless adjusting her position. The two green blades in her hands spun menacingly toward Bene, who looked at them – and Serra – warily.

"Joclad is also—he _does_?" _Don't give in, Cin, she's just trying to distract you._ "Serra," he continued firmly, "when you're a Knight you can do whatever you like, but while I am in the room you will—" Cin cut off, lifting a hand to the throbbing pain that broke out across the back of his head. "I sense—pardon me—"

The Force rippled and slammed inward on itself, reverberating in a shocking manifestation of great power. Extraordinary power…

It crashed into him an instant later, reaching him through both the Force and the slightest rumbling beneath his feet. As though something large had exploded, or toppled…

His comlink buzzed, and then snapped into its receiving mode without further prompting. The voice that issued forth was female, clear and calm: "All Jedi Knights, I need your assistance! Jedi Knights, I need your assis—"

_Shreezsh! _The sound of a blade slicing through flesh, and the woman spoke no more.

Cin lifted his gaze to the broad ceiling, tracing along the massive columns that decorated the little sparring room. The sanctity of the temple – violated – and the shimmering power of the Jedi suddenly turned outward, facing a threat – some _stain _on their strength—

"We're being ambushed," he said. His pupils watched him silently, though he sensed Serra's jump in interest. "Something—something is—"

He touched the dark in an instant before his senses melted away, smothered as though a sopping wet towel had dropped on his head. He fumbled blindly through the Force, calling his lightsaber to his hand out of habit and clearing his thoughts of all distractions. He did not ignite his weapon, but opened his eyes and looked at the padawans in front of him.

"Do you feel that?"

"I can't feel anything," Bene said. But then, Bene's talents lay more along the lines of diplomacy than detection.

Serra twirled her lightsabers again. "_I _feel it – I feel like – like we're being _jammed_—Master--"

He had no idea what unholy thing had dropped upon them – or what entity in this universe beyond a Dark Lord of the Sith possessed enough power to _do_ such a thing. But he nodded to his favorite student – the daughter of his heart – and indicated the doorway. "A final lesson, Serra, before we do our duty: look beyond the cloak and tell me what is in our home."

He watched her eyes drift shut, and felt the same _twang _as he always did whenever Serra called upon her considerable connection to the Force. She drifted up and _out_ of her body, skimming the corridors of the Jedi Temple and feeding some of the imagery to him by default through their bond. "I see… I see the statue of Sunrider in pieces on the ground… the door… Master, who could—there's a figure there, dark, and – _clones_?"

Clones… armed clones…

Cin had never particularly fancied the idea of Jedi as soldiers, though he was relatively proud of his near-son's accomplishments on the battlefield. But now, through Serra's eyes, he saw little more than bloodshed awaiting them.

_Clones… thousands of clones… they stretch down the stairway, through the city, and they are pouring in through the doors… someone has opened the doors…._

And Mace, Kit, and Saesee gone to deal with the Chancellor…

_I leave the temple in good hands_, Mace had said in the moments before he left for the docking bay.

Cin switched on the glowing green blade, and smiled. "Bene, you know where Master Delay is?"

She nodded.

"Then go to her. Serra and I have work to do."

Serra all but hopped from one foot to the next. "We'll show _them _what happens to invaders, won't we, Master?"

"Indeed we will," Cin murmured, flinging the doors open and sliding into a quiet hallway. "Take us to the action, padawan mine – show me where we need to go."

---------------------

In her day, Rhen Var had been the site of great battles between Jedi and Sith. Various scientists declared her perpetual ice age as the result of a haphazard orbit coupled with a devastating atmospheric event thousands of years prior. Officially, the Jedi Order accepted this explanation.

Rumors, however, continued to swirl - particularly when CIS tried to lay claim to such a wasteland. There were those who believed Rhen Var's desolation was the result of something far more... unnatural.

Whenever Dack tried to sleep, he felt some sort of presence watching him – not necessarily a malicious one, but enough to keep him from sleeping as soundly as he'd like. The first thing he planned on doing when he got back to Coruscant was issuing an official memo to Master Nu in order to update Rhen Var's entry: _Warning – this planet will upset your equilibrium. _

Next, he'd send a detailed message to Stass describing his various victories on the battlefield. _That _would shut her up for a day or two.

_You should wake up. _

He wasn't sure what time it was, or how he'd fallen asleep leaning against the rough edges of a support pillar. His robe was pulled snugly around his fatigues, though the storm had long ago ended. _So much for meditation. _His eyes fluttered open, taking in the smoky darkness of a quiet Rhen Var, and the vaguest whisper of the Living Force.

_It will be done, my lord. _

He dropped a hand to his lightsaber, and turned around.

The red and blue paint smeared across the faceplates of the two helmets identified Logres and Maverick. The clones looked at him, facial expressions hidden behind their masks and registering no immediate presence in the Force. Dack inclined his head to them, not certain what to make of the tickling sensation in his spine. "News, boys? Why the helmets?"

"It will be done," Logres said. His features were imperceptible beneath his helmet, but Dack felt the tinge of regret from the man as he lifted his weapon. "I'm sorry, sir."

Dack blinked, and then nodded. "So am I."

His lightsaber blazed to life as the rifle went off, and Dack let the Force guide his arm in a series of up-and-down motions, sending the laser bolts flying harmlessly into a wall. He leaped upward, yanking off his cloak and letting it drop onto their heads. He paused as he landed behind them, but the Force murmured again, and guided his weapon.

The clones moved no more.

Dack stared down at his former compatriots and extinguished his blade, bewildered.

_Thus ends my commission. I knew these clones were a bad idea. But why?_

He had felt no anger from either of them. No regret, no concern, nothing at all. The clones weren't even following orders, they were just... just... _there. _

Dack pursed his lips. _Why can't I understand?_

He realized it hardly mattered. If Logres and Maverick h had tried something, the rest might be in on it as well. Dack clipped his lightsaber back to his belt and glanced down at his robe. He briefly contemplated snatching it to use against another storm, but in the end he strode off without it. The less identification he had, the better.

It served as a funeral shroud.


	4. Night Errant

**Disclaimer**: If I owned any of this besides the OCs, I would totally be living it up somewhere warm and sunny.

---------

_3. Night Errant_

Joclad turned his lightsaber over, running his fingers along the grooves in the hilt. The nagging sensation of something about to go wrong had only intensified once his shuttle was well on its way to the _Redeemer_, and the weak jokes that his clone escorts were swapping barely distracted him from it. He flicked his thumb just over the switch several times, half-expecting the bright blue blade to spring out on its own.

His other lightsaber was still tucked away under his robe, safe from prying eyes. He did not know how many of the clones actually knew his name or who he was; those he'd worked with simply identified him as _the one with two sabers. _He felt the moniker suited him well enough.

These particular clones had given up socializing with him after he proved unreceptive to their overtures, and he decided he liked it that way. Joclad firmly believed in keeping an aura of mystery from time to time, particularly when in the company of living things that he did not quite consider real humans.

He tried to relax, leaning back against the seat. This would likely be his last dose of comfort until his return from Rhen Var, or the end of the war. _Oh, let Kenobi pull this off. _Joclad quietly harbored a darkly enthusiastic hope for the droid-general's demise; the Code spoke often of forgiveness and the release of old anger, but Grievous had burned them all too deeply to wish for much more than his end – by any means.

_Maybe_, the knight reasoned, _it's just the war, doing what war does best_. Bitterness was a feeling Joclad Danva had grown well-acquainted with after what remained of Depa returned.

She'd said something to him in the days before Haruun Kal: _This is not our war, but they will make us try to fight it. _She had protested at length in Council meetings, even using her considerable pull with Master Windu to keep the Jedi out of it. _It will taint our souls and drive us mad. _Her words drifted through the temple corridors, viewed as ironic in the wake of the clone victory on Geonosis – in her own contribution to it – and even more so when Depa insisted on taking on a sabotage mission against the Separatists on her own.

_Pretty hypocritical for a Chalactan, huh? _Dack had asked when word of Depa's plot got out, winking at Joclad from his bed in the healer's ward. Dack's entire ribcage had been rebuilt following his brief stint on Geonosis, and because of that injury, Joclad refrained from throttling him good-naturedly.

One clone muttered to the other, and Joclad returned to the present. _Has it really been almost three years?_

Three years, and nothing but dead memories and dreams, most of them broken in the fury of the Clone War.

Now, as he studied the weapon of his trade, he marveled at just how clearly Depa had seen things.

A comlink chimed politely, and one of the clones lifted his palm to his face. Joclad and the other clone exchanged weary smiles. It was likely Captain Tarkin, demanding to know _why _the Jedi was running behind schedule. The man was as punctual as he was brutal. Joclad rather liked him, aside from a rather macabre interest in combined firepower rather than actual strategy.

"It will be done, my lord," the clone on the comlink said. He stood up, appearing to stretch.

Joclad looked over at him fully as the device was put away. "'My lord'? Do I get a fun nickname, too?"

Both clones stared at him, and there was something new and intent in their dark gazes.

Joclad stared back, and the uneasy feeling erupted into a full-blown warning. He flung himself off the chair and landed hard on the deck, rolling to the side as blaster fire tore into the seat and the grate behind him. He jumped up, the lightsaber casting its blue glow over the twin faces before him. He deflected the bolts carelessly, marching on them with relentless precision. His blade singed the bulkheads, and it took only one sweep to strike through both guns. Joclad flicked his wrist slightly, and one clone toppled to the ground with a smoking hole in his side.

Joclad looked at the other and raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't _that _bad a joke, was it?"

_Beep-beep-beep. _Joclad looked at the thermal detonator the clone grasped, and then back up at its determined features. "All right, maybe it was. Are you going to do something with that explosive device?"

"It must be done," the clone said.

Joclad leaned toward him, pouring all of his strength into the unfamiliar game of the mind trick. "You don't want to do this," he said, his voice soothing. "You want to put the thermal detonator _down_."

He met no resistance, but also nothing on which to imprint a suggestion. Nothing to _manipulate. _Granted, Joclad's particular strength did not run along the lines of suggestion, but the trooper should have at least wavered. The clone just looked at him, a blinking thermal detonator the only sign of any rational thought going on in its head.

Joclad decided to try a different approach. "Are you going to shut that off?"

"No."

"I see." A simple upswing, and Joclad caught the clone's severed hand in his. The downswing cut the man neatly in half, and the Jedi let his lightsaber hang in midair as he pried the explosive from dead fingers. "Blast, how do you deactivate these things..."

He found the proper switch, and the beeping ceased. Joclad looked around, not entirely sure of what had just transpired. _Well. I've just killed some clones. That's...unexpected. _

He left the bomb on the floor and plucked the hilt from empty space, marching directly for the bridge. "Boys, there's been a mis--"

He stepped away from the six clones that launched themselves at him, shoving one into the bulkhead hard enough to crack the man's skull. "So this is a widespread thing?"

The blatant way the clones fired on him in the confined starship spoke of little care for their own safety - and thus, total dedication to a mission. Joclad noted this and adjusted his own style accordingly; if _they _took no prisoners, then neither would he.

He cut through them with precise, almost-bored slices. A laser bolt grazed his arm, and he hissed slightly as pain spread from his bicep to his shoulder. _Relax_—_if you feel pain you're still alive_. He filed it away as he knocked the last man down, stalking forward to the pilot's seat.

The _empty _pilot's seat.

Joclad extinguished his lightsaber and took in the bodies, incredulous. "The entire _bridge crew_ jumped me?"

He sat down in the pilot's chair, grasping the controls and turning off the autopilot. He opened all frequencies, switching first to the _Redeemer_'s line. "_Redeemer_, this is Danva. There's been a mishap--"

The shuttle jerked horribly to the side, and Joclad almost slammed his head into the forward console. Green fire blossomed through the windows, and an alarm warned him of missiles locking on. Instinct partially took over as he hit the accelerator, and he had but an instant to realize--

Not just two clones.

Not just the clones on the shuttle.

Clones _everywhere. _

And Jedi all over the galaxy…

"Tarkin!" He barked into the comm, "What in the name of the underlords are you _doing_?" Captain Tarkin wasn't a clone. Captain Tarkin had worked with him too often to—

_CRASH! _The transport bucked sharply, and it became quite clear that Tarkin was not about to spring to the rescue. "Son of a jumpin—"

He had no time to fully comprehend the scope of the situation, for the _Redeemer _was not about to let her quarry escape. The Force offered him no alternatives beyond taking the transport into a tight roll, switching gears and diving for the planet's surface amidst heavy fire. He could seek shelter amidst the surface buildings; clone betrayal or not, the _Redeemer_ could hardly afford to destroy the capital city. Joclad flicked on the shields as an afterthought; nothing on this bucket would hold off an attack cruiser, but he might as well make the effort.

He adjusted the frequency to the temple's line. "It's Danva," he snapped at the security perimeters. "Let me through!"

"Danva?" A puzzled-sounding padawan asked. "You're due on the _Redeemer_...five minutes ago, actually."

Joclad pushed the ship into a steeper drop, atmosphere screaming around the hull as the shields burned away. A common transport like this was not intended to go zipping back and forth like the Aethersprite fighters he was so fond of, and already he saw warning lights flashing on and off as key systems overheated.

A look at the sensors showed the _Redeemer _following, and a host of new missiles to evade. "My clones turned on me. I want to issue an alert--"

"Your _clones _turned--what?" The padawan in charge of communications sounded as though she'd turned around to speak to someone. "Oh, Anakin, can you--"

Her words terminated in a startled gasp, and the distinct hum of a lightsaber filled the shuttle's audio receivers. Joclad stared at the receiver in silent horror, fully expecting a sinister voice to start issuing commands. Instead, there was only the _click _of an ended transmission.

The transport's sensors revealed nothing, so he pushed the Force to its limit, managing to grasp at the bright spark in his mind that comprised the temple and its inhabitants.

He did not receive messages or words; just the barest scraps of feelings and vague images dancing across his mind – of white-suited soldiers with blasters, of darkness and light clashing, of _death – _the soldiers, _always _the soldiers - _the clones are everywhere! _

And then he saw it: the statue of Kildara Sunrider, toppled and used as a _ram _– bashing the doors of the temple wide open for all the soldiers – the _clones _– to come through—

_No – it would take more clones than that to bring down the Sunrider – more clones and more explosive power than—_

His mind hurt from the stretching, but he persisted in his search, heedlessly dodging a turbolaser here or a missile there.

The clones marched through--

--and he reeled in the sudden sensations from his home even as his hands worked the controls. Shock, horror – _fear,_ gradual and sudden, spreading through the ranks as encounters were passed through the Force.

It was as much as his admittedly weak grasp of foresight had ever granted him.

A code flashed onto his monitor: the standard all-clear. _Return to the temple. Return to the temple. Return to the—_

The shuttle lurched sickeningly, and the computer warned of a missile striking the aft shielding unit.

Joclad swore and cut the line off, throwing the shuttle into a dizzying series of loops and twirls. Missiles and turbolasers stabbed at the areas where the shuttle _should _have been, though increasing shudders and jerks told him that the targeting systems on the former were finally adapting to his flying style.

_Screech-crash! _

"There goes the armor," he muttered, pushing the ship beyond safe measures and trying to pull on crash webbing. He ripped a handful of wires out of the console, re-routing useless weapons systems into the engines. Urgency crept into his senses, demanding that he go faster, faster - faster still. There was no time to waste.

The shuttle screamed past the delicate buildings of the city proper, and he realized the shooting had ceased. Somewhere in the back of the bridge, a speed warning broadcasted freely.

He steered by instinct to the temple, honing in on the sudden outbursts of surprise, fear, and anger emanating from it. He had to get there. He _had _to.

He recognized home, inasmuch that it still resembled the massive building he'd left behind a mere half hour before. But in the greater vision of the Force, it looked _wrong _– the protective shield of light that had surrounded it, that Joclad had recognized even as a boy of barely six years – that light was gone.

In its place lay a darkness he dared not touch.

The hanger bay loomed up ahead, and its doors refused the code he sent over. Joclad ground his teeth, ripped the shuttle up onto a new course, and aimed directly for the open area at the base of the Council tower.

The darkness spread, and he dove into it.


	5. Dack Sneaks Around

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of George Lucas's stuff.

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_4. Dack Sneaks Around_

Dack stopped outside the pilots' quarters, which were comprised of one chamber on the ground floor. Despite his inability to use the armor from his two mutineers (lightsaber strikes might raise suspicions), he'd managed to conceal himself quite well by projecting the suggestion of a regular clone soldier on patrol. It took every drop of power that he possessed to hold up the façade, but the troops he passed accepted him as B-435, and no one seemed to notice that Logres and Maverick had not returned from either a mission to the 'fresher or a quick trip to murder the general.

He figured someone would find the bodies soon enough.

He pointedly did not return to the main camp. It was too easy to assume that the insurgency involved only the two he'd been closest with; what if the rest were involved as well?

_And if the rest of them are in on it…_ Dack straightened up and stared at the door. It might be prudent to get the hell offworld if that were the case, which was why he'd come to the pilots in the first place. Then again, what exactly was he supposed to _do_ when he went in? Just demand a ship? _Yes, Dack, that'll go over well._

His inability to sense any sort of malice from Logres and Maverick before they fired on him kept Dack on constant alert, but he was reminded of Joclad's words: _The pilots aren't clones. They might not be in on… whatever just happened… ._

But Dack felt nothing in that room. Nothing at all.

He poked a head in and just barely made out a body sprawled across the floor.

He reached out to the living _and _the dead, and now he recognized the corpses of all eight pilots: sentient beings created by their parents, not a batch of cloners on Kamino. Dack pressed further into the room, kneeling beside the only one to make it out of bed. The man – Lieutenant Jukka, if memory served - had died with a blaster in his hand.

On some dim level, Dack realized that eight dead people should have bothered him. As he sat back on his heels, though, all he could figure out was why this happened.

The clones had turned on him _and _the pilots. But was it a widespread revolt, or orders from higher up? He'd thought the clones were resistant to any form of bribery or brainwashing, but perhaps the remains of Dooku's network had managed some sort of mass infiltration.

_But all of them? How could he... how _would_ he? The sheer logistics involved… _

Even the Dark Side could not be that strong.

…could it?

Dack touched his fingers to his forehead and bowed over the man in respect. _This is because of me, Lieutenant. I apologize. Go brightly into the Force and live on forever. _

Voices filtered in from the hallway, and he realized the obvious: _I need to get offworld. _

He rummaged through the late Jukka's things, palming security cards, clearance chips, and a handful of credits. "Sorry about this," he whispered to the lieutenant, "but you don't need it anymore, and I do." Dack thought about retrieving the blaster, but prying it out of a dead man's hand when Jukka had clearly fought so hard to live just seemed wrong.

Instead, Dack snagged a blaster rifle from the arms locker and proceeded to load himself down with rations. _No robe. Need something warm. _Jukka's flak jacket would do, still hanging neatly in the makeshift closet.

He paused in the doorway, strengthening his illusion and looking back at the fallen men and women. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'll do my best to see you get a proper funeral. This won't be forgotten."

-------------------------------

The temple swarmed with clones, and all of them had the same order: to kill any Jedi they came across.

Cin Drallig and Serra Keto did their best to make that order impossible to fulfill.

Cin thrust out his hand and Force-shoved an entire group of clones back into a column, and their helmets cracked against the stone in a most satisfying manner. "That's seven more, padawan!" he called, spinning to deflect a blast from the lone survivor. Serra took care of that one, flipping colorfully into view and dispatching the clone with a quick sweep of her right blade.

Serra smiled grimly. "I believe I still lead," she said, turning around to make certain no one else was in the room. The bodies of Jedi and clones alike littered the floor, but none of them moved.

Cin reached down to the dead man and plucked a security card out of the armored hand. He frowned as he recognized the patterns etched into its surface. "This is high-level… only members of the Council have this," he said, looking from the card to his padawan. Serra's dark eyes widened slightly, but she leaned forward to inspect it before speaking. She disengaged her lightsabers, and then her fingers brushed the edge.

Cin waited until her silence became disturbing. "Well? What do you feel?"

Her words came slowly: "The Chancellor's office… something terrible happened there."

Cin could scarcely believe it. "What? Mace and Kit and Saesee are there. Someone _turned_—"

"Not them. This was Kit's." Serra pulled away and switched the blades back on. "They're dead, Master."

She had not sensed the obvious answer: that someone, somewhere, had turned. No; instead she spoke of the unthinkable. Mace Windu, dead? Smiling Kit Fisto was no more? And Saesee! Three of the best fighters on the Council…

Cin pocketed the card and sent his mind outward, trying find a path through the smothering fabric of the Dark Side. The lives of Jedi and clones in the temple flickered and went out, and something malignant simmered deep in the heart of the building. But if there were some way to push _past _that….

He grasped Serra's upper arm with his left hand. "Lend me your strength, Serra."

Her powerful connection to the Force allowed him to toss off the cloak and view the outside world. A shooting star coursed toward the building, moving too quickly for him to identify His mind wandered further, and great power turned in his direction—

_Who are you, Jedi?_

A powerful sender nearly knocked him backward. Cin cautiously felt along its lines, detecting strength that ran along an unfamiliar vein of the Force. The image he received was brief: colorless eyes peered into the very depths of his soul, and something ancient focused its attention on him.

Ancient, but not evil.

_The Force moves strangely tonight_, the sender said in a conversational tone. It was a bizarre contrast to the madness that currently engulfed the temple.

Cin breathed deeply. _The temple--_

_Clunk. _The Dark Side choked him off again, and Serra's attention jerked him back to the temple. "Master, they're here!"

"Yes, padawan, they are!"He leaped upward, lightsaber arcing toward a doorway as it slid open. The green blade punched through armor and flesh, and the clone trooper collapsed backward onto his compatriots. "What does that bring me to, Serra?"

Emerald plasma flashed in his sight as Serra propelled her body horizontally through the air, lightsabers extended in front of her. "I don't know," she called as she spun through the clones, "but I'm still winning!"

------------------------

_The temple—_

The man was shut off from the connection by something far more powerful than he, and a master of Teräs Käsi opened her eyes in surprise. _Jedi? Jedi?_

There was no response. Power simmered nearby, drawing on currents she'd felt long ago.

She cast her considerable reach outward and skimmed across Coruscant, noting the shocked reactions from those going about their lives in the city below.

_There. _Darkness yawned and grew, frightfully strong in its presence – and located deep in the heart of the Jedi Temple.

She'd felt the Dark Side often enough; her long lifespan had ensured that. But the malevolence that echoed through the Force punched through the barriers of common decency and twisted its bearer into something else, something far worse than merely an agent of Darkness.

Silently fearing what she might see, Arden Lyn leaned forward in her chair and finally looked out the window.

---------------------------------

Dack Meridian had never considered himself a particularly gifted Jedi. His mission records suggested a useful negotiator who preferred brains to brawn, though he was marked as _competent _in Form III lightsaber combat. He classified his previous accomplishments as _undercover work_, and lived fairly happily in the shadow of his more established – and Force-strong -- colleagues. He was no warrior and knew it.

Still, he was puzzled as to why only Logres and Maverick had come after him; after all, a Jedi was a Jedi, and even the most hapless Knight ought to have been treated with great caution. It didn't take too much thought to conclude they thought as little of his fighting abilities as he did. Dack wondered if he ought to feel insulted, but then decided that if their underestimation of him secured his escape – well, who was he to argue?

_He who laughs last tends to win_, he thought as he crept down the main hallway, a forbidding-looking section of architecture that would probably give plenty of younglings nightmares with its huge statues and ceiling that vanished into patches of starlight. _Then again, he who laughs last might just think slowest…. _

Besides, he did have one area of strength that had never failed him: suggestion. If the mind was not constantly looking for discrepancies or something entirely different from what he presented to the viewer, Dack Meridian could successfully convince just about anyone that he really _was _his current role, be it madman, musician, theatrical actor, or a common soldier with Jango Fett's face.

Thus the clones barely paid him any attention as he made his way to the landing pad.

During the day, the ruins of Rhen Var had an eerie beauty to them. By night, they were merely ghostly stone walls, providing a maze of dead ends and collapsed pillars for him to maneuver through. Dack tried to hone in on the small gathering of starships and transports at the landing pad, but maintaining his illusion and seeking out his quarry each demanded intense concentration. In the end he gave up on locating the vessels and focused on swaying the clones, weaving his way through the building nicknamed the Citadel and trying not to be startled by the broken statues that sometimes loomed out of the dark.

Cold air wafted down, sneaking through cracks and missing chunks of ceiling. He swung the rifle over his shoulder and grasped the base of a wall, hoisting himself up and over. Broken bits of ice and rock crunched under his boots when he landed, and his fingers grazed a sharp indentation.

A barely tangible sensation of steel on stone rattled him slightly, and Dack looked at the mark with new interest. _A sword struck here_, he thought, touching it again. The wall had taken a blow meant for a living being – but had that living being escaped further damage after a lucky miss?

He could not tell for certain, and it scarcely mattered at the moment. Even if that being had gotten away with its life, it was certainly dead by now.

Dack continued on, rubbing the arms of Jukka's flak jacket for warmth. The last battle fought on Rhen Var thousands of years ago had left it a desolate and depressing place, its crumbling buildings the only tribute to a long-lost time. Why the Separatists wanted control of it befuddled him; their droids couldn't even _fight_ properly on it!

_It's an icy rock_, he'd said to Kit after receiving the assignment. _Let them have it! _

But the Council ordered Rhen Var defended, and Dack wound up with a military commission.

_You'll do fine_, Kit had said. Dack supposed that should have made him feel much better about the entire thing.

_Yeah, you send me to Rhen Var and my clones turn on me. Thanks a lot, Master Fisto. _

Dack's thoughts trickled to a halt as he finally reached the landing pad and identified the ship that would hopefully bust him out: a sleek-looking transport that he knew possessed a hyperdrive. He checked the area for clones, found none, and hurried over to it. The bright lights that illuminated the place were a vast change from the torch-lit shadows of the Citadel, and he blinked back stars as his shivering fingers procured a security card to swipe through the slot.

**ENTRY DENIED.**

"What!" Dack swiped it again, and then hurled it to the ground when the codes failed. They'd changed the damned entry lines. Someone _had _planned ahead.

_Wait. Didn't Windu give all his field Jedi some sort of override in case Separatist droids hacked the mainframes_? Dack peered at the keypad and tried a string of buttons. This resulted in nothing more than a flashed warning, one that likely transmitted back to either the _Palacia _in orbit or the communications system in the main camp. Damn. He had to work fast.

_I know he gave us something... 275... 275...3... 27653... 27563... _He closed his eyes, remembering the day Windu had delivered the codes. Stass had paid careful attention, along with Luminara and Myri. Dack, to his best recollection, had been staring out a window wondering if he could summon up enough power to fly on his own.

_Force, I really am a bad Jedi. _

He punched in the first string, and was greeted with a secondary procedure. "When did these get so complicated?"

"There he is!"

_Oh. I guess it _is_ all of them. _

Dack wheeled around, lightsaber out before the clones could even bring their guns to bear. He tried deflecting the shots with one hand while stabbing at the keys with the other, inwardly kicking himself for letting his guard drop. Five clones had him in their sights, and he sensed a herd of others thundering through the broken stone building. _Great. Just great. _

A twist of his blade sent one bolt howling back at its shooter. Dack smiled grimly and kept working, well aware that he couldn't keep this up much longer.

The second string of numbers cleared. Dack almost cheered.

And then the computer demanded a third code.

He gaped at the screen, aghast. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

His attention wavered, and a bolt struck his knee. Dack dropped to the ground, fully depending on the Force to ward off the incoming surge _and _stave away the pain that bloomed directly in the joint. His precarious hold on the power slipped further away as he tried to stretch it in unfamiliar directions. _I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. I can't... _

Dack leaned back on one hand, blue blade a colorful blur in front of him. There were four clones left, and he was not used to sending laser blasts _back _at living beings. _If I can sneak under the ship... _His fingers brushed against something cold. _Wait. That's right... S_uddenly his quest to survive had a new ally. _Why am I just waving my lightsaber around when I can... do THIS!_

The rifle swung into one hand. He didn't bother aiming; just pointed it in their general direction and started pulling the trigger.

They went down like puppets with their strings cut, clearly unprepared for a Jedi to turn a ranged weapon on them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dack gained a new appreciation for a rather clever invention dismissed by far too many of his friends.

The Force trembled, and he felt the clones' deaths tug at his psyche. Dack put the rifle back over his shoulder and leaned against the ship as the shooting stopped, willing himself to ignore the cries of fallen spirits as he shifted his weight to his good leg. That was part of the burden of a Jedi with clone troops: when the boys went down, the commander always sensed it.

_Damaging_, Myri had muttered when Dack first arrived. _It's very… damaging. _

Myri hadn't said much after that. Or before, according to Logres.

_Stop drifting! Think! There's just another entry code – you know this, Meridian, you idiot, come on! _One last code and he could end this horrible holodrama and get back to Coruscant. One last code...

"We've almost got him, boys!"

Dack sighed. "Didn't I just _leave _this party?"

He punched the last key and the security panel flashed green. The hatch slid open, and Dack launched himself into it as laser fire splattered against the hull. He waved the hatch shut and tossed his lightsaber aside, the blade shutting off as it flew.

_Breathe, Dack, breathe. _He only needed a second. Just a second…

But his knee throbbed, and he knew it would not take long for the clones to break out more impressive weaponry. He hobbled to the bridge, jabbing instinctively at buttons and practically dropped into the pilot's seat. _Shields, engines at max, where are the guns... oh... silly me... _

He thumbed the auto-shootback, and a faint grinding noise under the deck identified itself as the underbelly cannon. Bursts of red energy lanced outwards as they echoed up through the hull, and the sporadic firing of the clones paused.

Dack smiled.

"Never mess with a Meridian," he said, punching in the coordinates for Coruscant. Sensors reported the _Palacia _on the far side of the planet; proof, perhaps, that the Force hadn't abandoned him. Any fighters the cruiser hoped to scramble would arrive long after Dack had made his escape. Just as well: he wasn't in the mood to dodge turbolasers.

The transport shrieked out of the icy atmosphere and made the jump to lightspeed without trouble, and Dack slumped back in his chair. He craned his neck around until he spotted a medkit tucked under the console, and called it to him. "Shoot a man in the knee, why don't you," he mumbled, pulling out the necessary fixers and tugging his pant leg up to reveal the full extent of the damage. He cringed to see it, and felt his grasp on the Force as a painkiller dwindling.

_Don't go away entirely_, he begged it. _Just stay long enough for me to repair this mess._

He hunched over his work, pressing what he hoped was a genuine antiseptic over it. "Shoot a man in the knee! Insurrection. Blast it, I _hate _being a general."


	6. The Temple Fight

**Disclaimer: **Who doesn't own anything? I don't!

**_eris86 - _**Thanks for thereview! I figured when I set out thatusing a bunch ofbackground characters would end up in a lack of popularity, but we have a couple of cameos today. I hope you keepenjoying it!

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_5. The Temple Fight_

T240, known as Terreio to some, strode through the temple with a group of three other clone troopers and shot anything that moved.

The Jedi went down in scores, their flashy lightsabers no match for hundreds of blaster rifles. Acrobatics and Force-hurled objects might work wonders against droids, but against a breathing, _thinking _creature that could dodge and adjust his method of attacks, such tricks did little good. The further the clones advanced into the temple, the more woefully inadequate the grand, ancient warriors of the Republic appeared.

Terreio did note that many of them were young; the temple had been emptied of its more seasoned warriors for much of the war. Still, he'd expected more of a fight from the Jedi.

To their credit, not one of them tried to run and hide. Knights and older padawans charged straight into the line of fire, sometimes taking out five or more clones at a time. This was expected and accepted: each and every soldier knew that a Jedi, armed or not, had a distinct advantage when taken on one at a time. The only way to defeat such a fighter was with a group.

Terreio and his group took care to constantly shift the aim on their weapons, creating an uneven stream of fire that not even a Jedi could hold off forever.

His quartet took out a grizzled-looking Wookiee with little effort. "This is almost too easy," D-234 said as the alien collapsed into a pile of smoking fur. "That's seven."

"We'll go to the outer sparring chambers next," Terreio said. "Call for backup – Lord Vader said there may be several hiding in there."

"You won't need backup," a voice said from above him.

Terreio's head had barely tilted back to examine the source of the voice when something blue and glowing flashed right before his eyes - and then through them.

------------------------------------

Joclad Danva stood over the four fallen bodies, his lightsabers poised overhead to make a final, decapitating blow if one of them moved.

None did. His gaze roamed over the empty corridor, sensing destruction and death from deep inside the temple. This little bunch had wandered the great corridors alone, and made easy prey for a Jedi perched atop the statue of Bastila. _Stragglers. Must be the clean-up crew, _he thought, spinning the green blade almost languidly as he lowered it. _The rest are further inside..._

He needed only to follow the outbursts of shock that jolted through the Force. No Jedi ever expected a clone to turn against him, and the sheer size of the temple did not allow any sort of alarm to sound with great effect.

Not that anyone ever dreamed such an alarm would be necessary…

Joclad sensed the grim reality of the situation as he ran through vast corridors now lined with bodies: they simply were not _ready. _Revolt, mutiny, and murder had not occurred to even the greatest of the farseers.

He'd leaped from the wrecked remains of the transport directly into a war zone. His senses, bolstered by the hundreds of other Force-strong individuals in the temple, shied away from strange holes in the Force where identifying signatures had once been. It felt almost like Depa's reflective presence, but the more he studied it, the more he realized it was simply _empty _instead of silent.

"Come with me," he implored whenever he came across a Knight or padawan hiding in the shadows. "Come with me! We'll cut them off before the next level!"

Always they followed the fabled Code-breaker, willing to hedge their lives on his aggression. Oh, how they finally appreciated that aggression.

But they always fell, and he did not.

Some part of him knew it was too late, but Joclad fought on. It was all he knew to do.

_Death. _He felt it all around: in the Jedi, in the clones, in the younglings cowering behind pillars or in darkened rooms. In strong Knights, seasoned warriors who fought for their lives and lost them.

Anger sparked deep inside. He ignored it.

_Clones ahead. _He did not give them the benefit of spotting him. He simply swung around the corner and brought his blades down hard and fast, striking them to the floor. No clone stood half a chance against a Jedi prepared for him, least of all Joclad Danva, master of teräs käsi and one of the best fighters in the entire Order.

He whirled effortlessly, knocking back a stream of laser fire. He swept into the crowd of clones, a single blue beam of energy splitting one man in half as Joclad kicked aside another. "I _fought _with you," he said as he sliced them to pieces. "_We _fought with you – and this is how you repay us?"

The anger crept up through his veins, fueling his attack and scattering bodies. It at once numbed him and exhilarated him.

_I shouldn't be killing them this way_. The dull efficiency with which they carried out their jobs spoke of something much higher in control here, something Joclad could not hope to understand. _They are pawns_, he realized, parrying two shots and taking off the man's arms and part of his neck. _I should not blame them. _

But blame them he did, bolstered by growing rage as he passed dead and dying compatriots. The carnage grew worse as he pressed deeper into the temple, where Jedi - at last alerted to treachery - had made courageous and ultimately futile stands.

Statues and pillars lay scattered across once-pristine floors. His home lay in ruins already, stained with the blood of both its inhabitants and its invaders. Somewhere in the distance, Joclad sensed great power – darkness that he tried to lock onto. It produced only a seething hatred that welled up and clouded away everything in his vision, everything except these _soldiers _he'd almost come to admire – _traitors_—

"You're nothing!" He snaked through a cluster of them, his lightsabers punching in and out in an intricate blue-green pattern. "You think you can stop me? I'll destroy you!"

He moved too quickly for the clones to lock onto him, dodging between laser bolts and leaping from man to man, sometimes alighting on their helmets as he ran them through. He landed on one's shoulders, and used the clone's surprise to pitch himself forward and down. Blue plasma jabbed into the clone's chest, and the blade slid through what remained of him like a hot knife through soft jam as Joclad sprang forward to decapitate another.

There were so _many _of them… so many that he'd already killed – _remorse – _but so many more killing everyone he knew – _not if I kill them first_—

--_I am killing living beings, I shouldn't be doing this, I'm a Jedi—_

_--they want to kill _me_—_

_Peacekeeper, not killer… _

He left clones broken and smoking on the marble floors, desperate to reach the main group.

But then he cut through two clones standing guard at the entrance to the temple's greatest foyer…

The statue of the Last Seeker lay in shattered pieces on the floor, the victim of explosive power. Beneath its heavy fragments, Joclad saw arms and legs and faces frozen in eternal shock.

He let go of his lightsabers and stumbled forward, the Force holding the blades in their position. The Last Seeker – Depa's favorite statue, and somehow by default, his. _Seeker, how can they… the Sunrider _and_ the Seeker? _He nearly tripped over a body. _Don't look down, don't look down… Oh, who am I kidding? _

He looked down.

Master Pablo-Jill lay crumpled at his feet, lightsaber still firmly in his hand. Joclad closed his eyes and wavered. He knew Pablo-Jill well enough: the great peacemaker of Ord Mantell, and a fellow survivor of Geonosis… a hero, stopped by a mere rifle.

_How can this be? How can any of this… _He avoided the body, moving farther into the foyer and clutching at his head as dull, pounding agony erupted there. _Like watching clones die on a battlefield_, he realized, _but I'm killing them… and everyone else… and me… . _

The shot came from nowhere, striking his right side. He wheeled around and called one lightsaber back to his hand, staring at this one clone who dared to take him on.

He deflected two more bolts as he strode toward the soldier, but felt another hit his arm. He stared at the clone, almost amused that this replica thought it could stop him. "You think to kill me?" The pain in his arm only strengthened his anger and allowed him to ignore the familiar wound as he had not been able to do on Geonosis. The clone kept on firing, but now Joclad sent the shots arcing away wildly. Simply deflecting a laser bolt back at the shooter was no longer good enough.

Joclad held out his hand, and the clone jerked forward. "I'll make you _eat_ that blaster," he growled, pushing the green blade through the armor's mouthpiece.

The clone jerked once and dropped. Joclad called his other lightsaber to his hand and clenched his teeth as his arm and side burned with fresh wounds, and he called on the Force to dull the sensations.

It helped only marginally, not that it mattered. He could not stop and try to heal himself. Not in all of this.

So he defied his pain as he defied all else, and dashed on.

------------------------------------------

Cin Drallig grasped Serra's upper arm when she made to further chop at an already stilled body. "Leave it. We have others to help."

"They will not require your help," a cold voice informed him.

Serra's back stiffened.

Cin slowly turned around, shocked that his senses had failed him so completely. Who was this creature hiding in the shadows, darkness swirling around him? He must have seen the entire fight and scarcely cared to help his men, who now lay inin in pieces on the polished floor.

_A Sith. Only a Sith could do such a thing._

The man emerged into a narrow shaft of light, and Cin's features tightened almost imperceptibly. Anakin Skywalker, the Council's precious Chosen One and Obi-Wan Kenobi's dearest friend -- _Anakin Skywalker_, now no more than a Dark Lord to face down. "Good evening, Skywalker," he said, lifting a cautioning hand to Serra. "When did this happen?"

"Probably all his life," Serra growled.

Skywalker came forward, lightsaber in hand. "What she said."

Cin kept his hand out in a placating gesture. "Serra, remain calm, this is no time to--"

"To blazes with _calm_!" Serra sprang toward Skywalker even as Cin shouted _no,_ a lightsaber clenched in each hand. Skywalker ignited his own saber, and the grin that crossed his face struck something deep inside Cin Drallig's rusty sense of foresight.

Neither he – nor his apprentice – would see another sunrise.

---------------------------------

Joclad leaped over a group of tiny figures and tried not to look.

_Just younglings. _He didn't know them – anything that short made him nervous – but who could kill younglings? _Why?_

_Pawns. Pawns. Pawns._ He ran, focusing in on a patch of light against shade directly ahead. Jocasta Nu and Rickon, Kit Fisto's latest padawan, held their own in front of the archives against a rapidly diminishing group of clones.

_The clones are not pawns. They do this by choice. _

Fury. Joclad had known the emotion by name only until this very moment. Physical agony melted away in its presence.

He soared into the fray, and green and blue blades sent armored limbs flying. One clone backed away, repeatedly firing at him as Joclad bore down with murder in his eyes. He swatted away the shots with disdain and took off the clone's head for it. The body wavered, and then toppled.

He stared down at the corpse, certain that he shouldn't be feeling this sense of... _triumph... _but not entirely sure he wanted to banish it just yet.

"Joclad Danva. You always did relish showing off."

Jocasta's voice shook him slightly, and Joclad moved to the fallen archivist. His lightsabers stayed in the air, circling a wary perimeter around the two. Joclad touched the woman's head, sensed the severity of her wounds, and sighed. "You've never had anything nice to say to me."

She smirked at him, and then turned her head, looking over at the fallen Rickon. "Never give into your anger," she said, the words as clipped and proper as ever. "You still need to learn that."

Joclad's fury withdrew briefly, but continued to lurk at the edge of his mind. "I still need to learn many things."

He could not help but look at the wounds. If he'd been a better Jedi, interested in skills beyond those of a warrior, perhaps he could have helped the old reet. At the very least, he could have stabilized her enough to transport her to a _real_ healer. Then again, no healers graced this level of the temple, and if they did, they fought for their own lives. Joclad held his hand over the largest of the burns and tried to mold the Force into a bandage. It resisted.

"I'll be fine," Jocasta said. To his great shock, she pushed him aside and stood up, her critical gaze calm and flinty. "Knight Danva, if you insist on running about the temple trying to save us all, I suggest you get on with it and stop dallying _here_."

Joclad looked at the blaster burns on her midsection. "Master Nu, I don't think—"

"Stop arguing," she commanded. "I am still a Jedi Master and _you _are a Knight, and you've received your orders."

"But you're—"

"MasterDanva," Rickon whispered. Both Jocasta and Joclad looked down in surprise, unaware that the boy was even alive. Joclad reached out, but found his immediate perceptions dulled.

He tried again, and felt like he was muddling through a swamp. He covered his now-pounding hurt with his right hand. "Jocasta, what's happening?"

"Something has drawn a veil over the Force," Jocasta said quietly, kneeling beside Rickon. Joclad stood uneasily behind them, his attention flickering about in search of new threats. Fine: he could fight without the Force's intervention – he'd done it often enough on Bunduki.

"Master Drallig needs your help," Rickon said. His eyes, already glassy, seemed to look through Joclad. "He and p...Padawan Keto are... are trying to hold them back, but there are so many..."

"He came here to tell me that," Jocasta said, her hands over the boy's forehead. "Go on, Rickon. Show Knight Danva what you saw."

He followed the boy's line of thought to one of the exercise rooms, where seven Jedi held off clones and - who was that dark figure? Better yet, _what? _

A sense of urgency nearly sent Joclad running. _I have to go there! Now!_

Jocasta's clear voice issued one order:"Who is the dark one, Rickon?"

Rickon's eyes threatened to roll up into his head, but he was able to send them one hazy, insubstantial image: tousled blond hair, a blue lightsaber, and dark tabards.

..._Skywalker?_

"Chosen One," Rickon whispered. "Master Danva, help us. They can't stop you..."

Rickon's entire body shook, and went still. Something clanked on the floor, and Joclad looked down to see that the padawan's small lightsaber had slipped out of his grasp.

Jocasta stared at it.

Smarting side forgotten, Joclad grabbed the old woman and shook her. "Where is Master Windu? Kit? Where _are _they?"

"They went to speak to the Chancellor," Jocasta said, her hand resting on the old hilt that she still kept on one hip. "They never came back." She turned to him, and suddenly looked impossibly old. "Skywalker's betrayed us."

Joclad nodded. Somewhere nearby, Cin and Serra stood against an impossible foe. In that case, there was only one thing to do. "I'll kill him."

Jocasta scoffed. "He's too strong for you…."

Anger simmered inside him again, easy to call upon. "We'll see about that."

"Arrogance always thrived in Master Drallig's apprentices…" Jocasta's sharp tone changed abruptly as she caught onto his intention. "…Joclad, wait, you won't reach them in time—"

Her warning fell on deaf ears. Joclad snatched his lightsabers from midair and broke into a run.


	7. Storm Warnings

**Disclaimer:** Anything that looks like it belongs to GL & co probably does. I just have a bunch of DVDs and video games and soundtracks that make me feel like I belong in it.

Hi, **_Jedi of Gondor_** - thanks for reading, and great name, by the way! Welcome. I'm afraid I can only take credit for Dack Meridian as an OC thus far, though we will meet another one in the chapter following this. Just about everyone else makes appearances in either movies or games; they're just not heavily written about in profic or fanfic. One of these days I'll get some kind of little character sheet up so we can attach names to faces.

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_6. Storm Warnings_

Sabé Ralter awoke to a very impolite beeping by the side of her head.

She reached out clumsily, slapping aside her regular comlink and a likely message from Rabé or, worse yet, the new lieutenant asking for more guidance on mundane issues. Sabé had no intention of losing yet another hour of precious sleep to the girl's yammering, which had so far ranged from starfighter maintenance to problems with the cooking staff, and, guardians protect her, what to do if one of the soldiers looked at her improperly. _Gods, are they incapable of giving me a halfway-decent staff? _Sabé stuck her head under her pillow. _Go away, go away… _

The comlink kept on needling at her. Whoever it was certainly wasn't getting the hint. _Probably _is _that idiot lieutenant… _

_Times are trying, Captain, _the general's voice reminded her. _Make do. You're not on Naboo anymore._

No, instead she was stuck on some gods-forsaken attack cruiser somewhere in the Core Worlds, waiting for proper orders. Sabé swatted at the desk again, this time successfully bashing her hand into her standard comlink and sending it skittering off the night-desk. _The reactor better be going critical. If the ship's not about to explode, I'm going to send her back to that rock she came from. _

The comlink bounced gently off the thin carpeting of her quarters, but the beeping continued.

Sabé peeked out from under the pillow and realized that it was _not _the irritating lieutenant after all.

Sleep vanished as she yanked open the drawer of her night-desk and dug the secondary comlink out. "Padmé, what is it?" she asked, mentally calculating the time difference on Coruscant. Padmé would not call this late unless…

Sabé heard soft breathing, but no actual words. She sat up properly, leaning back against the thin durasteel headboard that had been delivered after she reached the rank of captain. "Padmé?"

The breathing continued for so long that Sabé wondered if her friend had simply knocked into the comlink accidentally while cleaning. Or perhaps Binks had tried juggling machinery again and dropped it on the ground. It didn't necessarily mean anything was _wrong_….

Then, from the transmitter, came a small, frightened voice. "Sabé? Oh, Sabé…"

Her feet were already on the floor, and one arm reached for clothing as she held the comlink up. "Talk to me, Pad – what's the matter? Are you all right? Where are you?"

"Everything – everything's fine—" Padmé took a deep breath, and the shaking in her voice stopped. "It's just—things are going so _badly _here, and I don't know… I'm so tired of this…."

Sabé held still, looking around the darkened confines of her room. Padmé Amidala never complained about work; such things had a way of becoming very public in these turbulent times. The quake she heard beneath the Senator's unwavering determination was very real – and frightening. The wear and tear of Clone War politics was finally starting to manifest. Sabé, with her military commission and excellent connections, had managed to avoid a good deal of the messy galactic affairs that in which Padmé was often ensnared.

_What's worse? _Eirtaé's melodic chuckle passed through Sabé's mind. _War politics or the politics of war?_

In truth, Sabé was slightly surprised that Padmé hadn't flung up her hands at the current behavior of the Senate and gone back to Naboo already. "You ought to go home, Pad. Let Binks take care of things for awhile."

Padmé's laugh had a hint of a desperate tinge to it. "I can't do that. You saw what he did last time."

Sabé dropped her boots and stumbled over to the holovid, flicking it on to the local all-news channel. "Yes, and it saved your life on Geonosis, in case you'd forgotten."

The breaking story featured a building on fire. Sabé turned away to pull on her trousers and boots, figuring she might as well make her rounds now that she was awake. "I mean it. Take a few weeks. Go to the Lake Country… I'll join you!"

Padmé paused. "You're on active duty."

"I'll pull rank. No one will tell me no; they're all afraid of me anyway. Besides, it's boring as a shaak-race here, and I'm sure General Frei can handle things for awhile." She picked up her chrono and cringed at the time. "It'll be fun… maybe I can get Rabé to come along later, and we can swim every day and…" She babbled on, hoping her words would at least have a heartening effect.

Padmé didn't answer. Sabé sighed and tightened her belt a notch, mentally reminding herself to eat something at her earliest opportunity. She tried a different tactic, broaching a subject her friend was usually eager to discuss: "How's Anakin doing? He still owes Rabé a new speeder. She says she wants one of the new R-40s." Rabé's previous speeder, a B-47, was in pieces at the bottom of some gorge, thanks to one of Anakin's more impulsive rescue plans.

_At least the rescue worked_, Sabé reminded herself as she pulled her hair into a simple plait.

"I… I don't know… I haven't seen him…" Padmé coughed, and then mumbled something indecipherable before clearing her throat. "I'd better go."

Sabé longed to say something – _anything – _just to keep the Senator on the line. Padmé had been far from home for too long, just like all of them had. Still, trying to further push her into going back to Naboo might just complicate things; taking a leave of absence in the middle of this war would only spur bitter gossip and ultimately more heartache.

They'd all had enough of that to last a lifetime.

So Sabé Ralter did her job and stayed strong. "Tell Threepio if he doesn't take care of you, I'm going to scrap him."

"Well, _really_," the droid snapped in the background. "Oh, mistress Padmé—" The droid sounded as if he were about to say more, but cut off abruptly.

"Thanks, Sabé…" Padmé's voice almost lightened… _almost_. "Take care."

The transmission ended, and Sabé was alone in the quiet.

She tossed the comlink on the bed and finished dressing, buckling her holster across her thigh and reaching for her battered black jacket. On a whim, she turned up the volume on the holovid.

…_Jedi Temple has been ablaze for at least twenty minutes now…_

Sabé froze as she identified the graceful towers and elegant architecture. Yes, that was the Jedi Temple, but at the same time, it couldn't be. Multiple fires raged across its base, and the changing views were courtesy of a bot-droid that zipped back and forth above it. Sabé had seen a great deal of nastiness during her time in the Clone War, but something about the Council tower -- swathed in smoke and flame -- shook her almost as badly as Eirtaé's death had months ago.

There was no discussion and no anchorman; only a scrolling bit of text at the bottom of the screen, informing anyone who cared to watch that no reporters were allowed to get near the temple.

_Security forces say the fire is under control… _

And Padmé able to see the flames from her windows…

_By the gods, why didn't she _say _something_?

The computerized voice droned on: _We are not sure what has caused the current situation… _

Sabé reached under her bed and tugged out the kit containing her vibroblades, clipping one to each side of her belt. _I'll give them a _situation

She flicked off the 'vid and left her room -- if it could indeed be called a room -- in disarray. Down the corridor, past an alert pair of guards – until she pounded on the flat-paneled silver door that separated the pilots from the ground forces. She kept on banging, her fist striking it with increasing frequency until--

The door slid open, and a bleary-eyed Ric Olié stifled a yawn. "What? Sabé, it's barely past the watch—"

"I need your ship."

"What?" The flight captain perked up slightly. "She's in hangar four, but—"

"Something's happened on Coruscant; the temple's on fire, I need to get Padmé—"

"The temple's on _fire_?" All traces of sleepiness vanished from Ric's face, and he adopted that shaak-on-the-firing-range look that always seemed to precede one of his more obvious remarks. "You need to get Padmé!"

She refrained from strangling him. "I need the _codes_, Ric."

"Two seven o'niner," he said immediately. "Why's the temple on fire? The temple shouldn't _be _on fire!"

"Tell Rabé I'm sorry and to watch things and—" she shoved her security key into his hand, "--hold the place down!"

"But Captain—"

"Not now, Ric!" Sabé was already halfway down the hall, and gods help anyone in her way. She reached the hangar in record time, punching in Ric's access codes hurling herself into the bridge of a sleek Nubian X-class transport. A handful of buttons and one terse instruction to the onboard computer later, the _Spindrift _lifted off her skids and blasted away into the cold reaches of space, leaving her mothership far behind.

Sabé bypassed questions with her military clearance, and _Spindrift _jumped to lightspeed.

---------------------------------------------------

The Force choked under the blinding pressure of the Dark Side, and Cin Drallig was momentarily frozen as he watched his padawan rush to her death.

Serra and Skywalker clashed in the center of the sparring chamber, light sweeping from locked blades. Skywalker lifted a hand and Force-shoved her against one of the pillars. He advanced on the padawan as she struggled to get back to her feet.

The surreal moment ended, and Cin's lightsaber came to his hand. _Not my apprentice, you sand-covered little scumbag. _He soared across the room, bringing his blade into a downward arc. Skywalker didn't turn around, but deflected the blow over his shoulder.

Cin felt himself lifted up and back, and quickly locked down his own defenses. "Serra, get out of here!"

She didn't answer, and Cin's boots landed jarringly on the floor. He opened his mind to the will of the Force and twirled his green blade menacingly. He'd likely die tonight, but not without a fight that would make a Dark Lord look back in awe. "Welcome, Skywalker… to your _destruction_." Cin smiled challengingly. "Come on, you desert brat. Remember your lessons?"

Skywalker launched toward him, leaping up and pulling his blue blade toward Cin's chest. Cin struck it aside, taking small, careful steps and jabbing sharply at the boy's ribs. Skywalker squirmed back and forth to evade the blows, and eventually dropped into a crouch to sweep his lightsaber at the master's feet. Cin moved a touch too slowly, and heat singed at his ankles.

Skywalker lifted his left hand in a mocking salute. "You're making this too easy, old man."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Cin swung under Skywalker's arm and jerked his blade upward, hoping the boy might spring back out of reflex and wind up with one less arm.

Instead, Cin felt his airway close off and instinctively dropped his weapon to grab at his throat. His eyes widened at Skywalker's calm countenance, the way the fingers of his left hand gently drifted shut, blocking more and more air. "You'll look better when you're dead, Drallig," the boy said almost lazily. Cin saw spots appearing in front of him, and tried to grasp for the non-responsive Force. _Where is it? How has he blocked it so completely?_

The invisible hand around his neck abruptly released him, and Cin Drallig landed hard on his backside as Skywalker wheeled around to face a swirl of green plasma, barely deflecting a punishing series of blows. Serra had recovered, and instead of running for her life, she'd opted to fight.

_Just like Joclad, _Cin thought, calling his lightsaber back and stalking toward them. _Just as eager to go running in and get killed_. _Maybe it's me. _"Serra, no!"

She came at Skywalker in a series of whirls and struck at him from all angles. Anger gave her greater strength, pushing the Chosen One into a defensive mode that Cin hadn't seen him willingly take up for quite some time.

"You call yourself _Skywalker?"_ Serra jumped wide over a swing and tried to strike at his head with the hilt. Skywalker ducked, holding out his hand and catching the padawan in a Force-vice, immobilizing her in midair. She twisted frantically, sabers slashing back and forth as he flicked a finger and dragged her closer.

Cin flung out his wrist and hurled his power at Skywalker, knocking the boy off-kilter and halting Serra's inexorable slide to certain doom.

She landed on her feet and came right back, hurling her right blade at the boy's head.

Skywalker knocked it aside with shocking ease. Serra's anger looked ready to boil over as she called it back.

Cin gave Skywalker another Force-shove, and Serra closed in. She lunged upward and sent both blades down in a move that on any other Jedi, in any other _lifetime_, would both disarm and decapitate.

Skywalker slid his blade between hers, and orange light momentarily blinded them all as he cut off her swing at just the right second.

Cin held his breath as he sensed his apprentice's shock. _No one _should have deflected that blow...

Skywalker smiled malevolently. "And you call yourself a Jedi?"

Serra jerked her left saber free and swung one-handed at his neck. Skywalker leaped backward and jabbed at her torso. She slid a little to the right, but hissed in pain as the glowing blue light opened up a weal on her side. "You should talk," she said through gritted teeth as Cin masked his presence and approached from behind, lightsaber clenched in his hand. "You're the worst Jedi I've ever seen!"

Skywalker's response was succinct: "I'm _more _than a Jedi now!"

Cin grasped the boy's shoulder and sank tendrils of the Force into him before Skywalker could even react, nailing him across the face with the hilt. "We'll see about that."

Serra did not miss her chance, and dove at the apparently dazed Skywalker. She lifted her right arm high over her head, flicking the hilt down to run it straight through his ribcage--

--too late, Cin saw Skywalker's blade swing around to punch through Serra's unprotected right side and re-appear on her left.

_NO!Serra, no!_

Cin stood immobilized, too horrified to even breathe. Skywalker could not have done that. Serra was too strong, too fast. Serra...

Serra's mouth hung slackly in shock, and she seemed to be pleading with him as Skywalker bided his time. _Master, help me! _

Skywalker twitched his lightsaber, and Serra's entire body jerked. "Oh, you don't like that?" He smiled at Cin, seemingly relishing the effect he had. "Not much of an apprentice to fall so fast, is she, Drallig?"

Cin felt his blood starting to roar in his ears. _This bucket of slime has killed my padawan. _

Serra remained absolutely still, though her life-force appeared to be draining out through her feet. "You've gone to a bad place, Skywalker," she whispered, "and you're going to rot there for a very long time."

He jerked the saber free, and Serra Keto dropped bonelessly to the floor. Skywalker turned to Cin, and the smile on his face was at once chillingly familiar and entirely inhuman. "We'll see about that..."

The old swordsman drew himself up and looked to the Force as his ally, but knew these next few moments would be his last. "Let's see your best then, brat. Come get it."

-----------------------------------------

_A/N: If anyone here has played Revenge of the Sith - The Video Game, you'll probably recognize a couple of Serra/Cin lines: "Welcome... to your destruction!" and "You're the worst Jedi I've ever seen!" _


	8. The Gauntlet Falls

**Disclaimer: **There were these two OCs named Dack and Dev, and they were mine. Even though they really belonged to the Jawas. But everything else, it was George's.

Introducing the Hapless Trader™!

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_7. The Gauntlet Falls_

A hydrospanner clattered to the deck and knocked aside several empty glasses that had once contained water and muja juice. Several seconds later, Devona Swyfte's head popped out of an overhead hatch, her dark braid dangling into the empty space above the corridor. "Hey, Arden? Could you get that?"

There was no response. Devona sighed, dropped down from the hatch, and picked up the hydrospanner herself. "Is it that much to ask for a little help? I'm carting you around for next to nothing, the least you could do is…oh, what's the use?"

She stopped her complaints, shoved the tool into her belt, and gathered up the empty glasses. There was no use in asking an ancient Teräs Käsi master to help fix a hyperdrive; Arden would probably try to use her freakish powers and short-circuit the entire thing.

Again.

_You'd think someone with several thousand years of experience would pick up some mechanical know-how along the way… or maybe she just does it to make me scream. _Sometimes, Devona firmly believed that Arden did things purely to chuckle at the chaos she could cause.

The _Wanderer_'s maintenance corridor had become something of a storage yard over the last few months, and as she stumbled through it she vowed once again to clean the damned place up – at her earliest convenience.

She deposited the glasses in the galley and wiped off her hands on a rag. "Arden, I'm going to need to pick up a new converter before we..." She spotted the woman standing in the bridge, likely either meditating or thinking about jumping through the windows. Devona hedged her bet on the latter; Arden had been nothing but odd for the last day or so, going back and forth through the _Wanderer'_s living quarters and complaining about disturbances in the greater powers.

_Whatever that means, _Devona usually thought. Arden might be very powerful indeed, but that didn't mean she wasn't just plain _odd_.

In truth, Devona Swyfte couldn't decide which group spooked her more: the Jedi, or the old-school Teräs Käsi warriors. They all fell into the general category of Force-users, most of whom served as chilling reminders of what happened when one had an abnormally large number of weird little creatures swimming through one's bloodstream.

"I'm going to shop around for a converter," she said as she puttered about near the back of the bridge. "And then I think I might sell myself at the Outlander."

Arden did not respond.

Devona rolled her eyes and brushed past her, leaning over a keyboard to check the readouts. "Life is much easier when no one listens to you, isn't it? In fact..." She glanced up, fully expecting to see the sparkling lights of Coruscant when she looked out the windows.

Instead, she realized that Arden wasn't meditating. She was _staring._

Slowly, Devona followed Arden's gaze to the plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Orange flame leaped up from one of the tallest buildings on Coruscant, swathing everything around it in a reddish-brown glow. _Fire? Here? There shouldn't be fires on Coruscant_. _Much less from a building of that size. _

And then it occurred to her.

Devona dropped her datapad, hardly noticing as it bounced off her foot. "Isn't that the--"

"Yes."

"But aren't the--"

"Yes."

She grasped at the chair, her eyes widening. "Holy mother of--"

Fire. The Jedi Temple was on _fire. _

Devona grabbed for the general broadcaster to dial in the local brigade. Arden immediately slapped her hand aside. "No. Wait."

The pilot gave her an incredulous look. "Are you out of your mind? It's--!"

"It's just on the top level," Arden said calmly. "Notice the lack of fire drones."

Devona continued to gape. "It probably just started!"

"It's been going like that for half an hour. The Sith have made their move, and I do believe the big one is much higher up than any of us thought." Arden turned around sharply and strode off the bridge, the bewildered pilot hot on her heels. "Don't scramble, Devona, it's not dignified."

"The Sith? Wait -- you watched it for _half an hour_?" Following the long-striding woman proved to require a great deal more dexterity than Devona had imagined as she navigated the cluttered hall of her starship. "We have to do something!"

She imagined Arden's eyebrows lifting as she walked. "_We_?"

Devona tripped over a storage box and banged her hand against a sensor panel. "You can't just do _nothing_!"

"I can and I will." Arden reached the common room and pulled her bracers out of a cabinet, strapping them to her wrists. "The Jedi claim to be warriors; let them get out of it."

"They're philosophers! Peacekeepers!" Devona followed the other woman as she made for the main hatchway. "This is a direct attack on the--"

"You're spending far too much time with them if you're talking like them." Arden called a jacket to her hand and slung it on, tugging nearly-black hair out from under the collar. She palmed the hatchway, and the ash-tinged air of Coruscant filtered in.

"Arden!"

Arden Lyn stopped short and spun around, grasping the startled Devona by the shoulders and hauling her close. "If we go there, we'll be overwhelmed. Far larger forces are at work than you or I, and _please_, Swyfte, _believe _in my exceptionally long-lived experience when I say _we shouldn't run into the burning building_."

_But the Jedi... _The words died on her lips as Arden jumped right out of the ship and off the landing pad, effectively barring further discussion. Devona Swyfte stood there, staring at the chilly evening just outside the hatch, nearly pinching herself to make sure she was awake.

_Surreal_, she thought, shutting the hatch. _Absolutely surreal. How did I get stuck carting _her _around?_

_--------------------------------------_

Anakin Skywalker possessed a swift turn of foot and reaction time that had long-ago earmarked him as one of the Order's best swordsmen. Cin Drallig, while always critical of Anakin's faults, had freely admitted this upon the young man's knighting several months prior.

How he wished he'd been wrong.

He knocked Anakin aside with a sharp jerk of his hand and drove him from the arena to the balcony. Something had exploded on the landing below, and fire still reached up into the night sky, turning everything in sight a fierce shade of orange-red.

Smoke stung Cin's nostrils, and he attacked Skywalker with renewed vigor, relishing the startled look on the boy's face. "You burn my temple, you kill my students, do you really expect anything less?" Cin weaved toward him, hammering at Skywalker with his blade. "I taught you how to fight, you spiteful little wretch."

Skywalker threw the Force into his strikes, raining them down on the shorter man. "You were a _horrible _instructor."

Cin landed a punch across the boy's cheekbone, and then reached back to Force-shove him away. Skywalker stumbled back, but did not go down. "No, you were just a horrible student. Your treachery ends _here_!"

With a growl - a _growl! - _Skywalker spun around, his lightsaber arcing sharply downward. Cin leaped aside and delivered a stabbing double-swing, and then shoved him again. This time, Skywalker barely even registered the blow. "You're weak, old man."

The innermost reaches of Cin Drallig's mind knew that the fight was already lost; Skywalker's unnatural darkness all but assured it. He'd slaughtered half the temple and seemed to have drawn his strength from those deaths, sucking the Force from one body to the next in a never-ending quest for power. Cin drew upon all his old defenses, and the two figures clashed at one another over and over again, backlit by the raging fires that crept ever closer to the heart of the temple.

The fire made Skywalker's face look bloody and raw: _fitting; he is stained with the blood of Jedi. _But there was no time to think, no time to _feel _anything as Cin dodged blows and tried to force the boy backward over the railing.

Skywalker always just managed to evade the death blow with his name on it. His strikes never wavered in their strength, and he railed away on his old instructor until it was all Cin could do to defend himself.

Cin didn't even realize he was retreating until the light from the fire dimmed, and he was once again in the dueling room.

"You won't get past me," he said, wishing for a younger man's bravado.

Skywalker reached back with his blade and swung hard enough to send Cin flying backward into one of the holocrons. "As I said: _weak_."

_Never give in to the Dark,_ the holocron advised. Once, Cin might have chuckled dryly at the irony.

The swordsman accepted that he was losing and did his best to smile cheerfully at his opponent. "I'm weak, you're stupid; we can't all be perfect."

Cin dropped into a crouch and swiped at elegant black boots, then sprang back to eye level with an uppercut. Skywalker's eyes, usually a fairly benign blue, stared back at him in shades of gold and red as he pushed back with his blade. Sparks danced around their locked sabers, both men refusing to give an inch.

Cin knew what the outcome would be. It was written in the Force as plainly as the red in Skywalker's eyes or the crumpled figure of Serra on the floor. _I am losing… I've already lost. But I will not die at his whim. _

"There's something you ought to know, Skywalker," Cin murmured over their crossed blades, pleased that the boy leaned forward slightly to catch his words. "You call me old? Jedi _age_, Darth Whoever-You-Are. Sith Lords _rot_."

Cin waited for the insult to register, and then headbutted him.

Skywalker snarled and hurled him straight across the room. Cin slammed into a wall and dropped his lightsaber, gasping as the air simply escaped from his lungs. He rolled to the side, crawling over Serra's body and sending her still face an apologetic look.

Skywalker advanced on him, weapon raised overhead for a final strike. Cin's grip tightened on his own 'saber. _I'll take you with me, you little… _

"Master Drallig! Run!" The shriek was female, and young. Cin looked up in astonishment as Bene hurled herself at Skywalker, blue blade slicing frantically at his cloak. "I got through the troopers on this level, Master, _go_!"

For just an instant, victory seemed vaguely possible as he watched little Bene's poor form -- poor form more than made up for by the vigor in her attack. She'd gotten through all the clones on this level? If they could dispatch the traitor, they might yet make it!

But Skywalker's hand closed around Bene's neck, even as she sliced at him. Cin leaped to his feet and charged at them both, calling his blade back to his hand. Skywalker effortlessly blocked Cin's strikes one-handed, shaking Bene and tightening his fingers around her throat until all that emerged was a rasping, terrible croak.

Cin felt the slice of plasma against his arm and staggered back. Bene's croak echoed in his mind even as her struggles ceased, and Skywalker dropped her still body to the ground. _I was supposed to protect the younglings… Mace told me to protect them… _

"Don't worry, Cin," Skywalker drawled, "you'll soon be joining them... as will your other padawan."

Cin tried to sneer through the pain in his arm. "You would not put a scratch on Joclad Danva."

"I didn't have to." Skywalker held out his hand, and Cin hurtled directly into it. Fingers closed around his neck, and a lightsaber spun in the Sith's free hand. "The clones did it for me, while he was en route to the _Redeemer_."

Cin stared at him, unable - unwilling - to believe the obvious. His padawan... _both _his padawans... gone?

And then Anakin Skywalker, that damnable brat from Tatooine, ran him through.


	9. Into Shadow

**Disclaimer: **If I owned them, I probably wouldn't have had to just write a thirty page thesis.

**Note**: for the purposes of this fic, there are two kinds of teräs käsi – the fighting art that J. Danva participates in, and a very old order that A. Lyn is a master of. The Order of Teräs Käsi is capitalized, the basic fighting bit is not.

Let the fight scene begin...

_----------------------------------_

_8. Into Shadow_

Arden Lyn stood atop one of the highest buildings on Coruscant and watched the Jedi Temple burn.

Speeders full of gawkers were chased away by local patrols. Flickers of surprise and fear dotted the city planet as word spread, and even those who hated the Jedi would admit to what Devona Swyfte had already pointed out: The temple should _not _be ablaze like that, without any help in sight.

The wind that lifted her dark hair carried the faint sounds of battle. _Clones and Jedi. Soldiers and commanders_. If she stretched out her senses, she could pinpoint the exact fights as they were won and lost, but her inspection of each level brought only the same result: complete destruction. Jedi padawans and children scattered in hallways, and older Knights and Masters fought with all they had to no avail.

Carnage.

_All of this against a batch of clones with projectile weapons?_

Arden Lyn had seen a great many things throughout her unnaturally long life. She had come to accept that certain events would occur: the Sith would rise again, the Jedi would face unenviable hardship, and war would besiege the Republic.

Now, as she watched the cornerstone of peace and justice -- or what passed for it these days -- burn and die, she knew that something far darker had smoked across the stars.

She tugged on her wrist bracers and checked the nearby air for errant speeders. A step off the roof and she was airborne, soaring across the city and landing atop one of the buildings directly across from the temple. Several citizens were already gathered on the landing below her, gawking through smoke at the mess. It took only a tweak of the greater power to keep their attention off Arden and on the temple, allowing her to get a good look.

A lone fireship arrived, and smoke mixed with steam as it poured water on one of the many smaller fires: an apparently wrecked transport at the base of the Council tower.

She reached out again. _Someone _still put up a fight, though the exhausted strokes of a lightsaber rapidly indicated the person was running out of energy.

Of time.

Of hope.

She climbed up the spire, leaning out over an abyss and shading her eyes from the flames. _Yes, the Sith have made a move...and a bold one._ A direct frontal assault on the Jedi Temple had long been accepted as a suicide run and no more, even by the notoriously flamboyant Teräs Käsi masters. Were the temple in its usual peacetime state, hundreds of able-bodied fighters would have destroyed the clone force, regardless of its size. No mere soldier dared stand up to a full team of...

_But they were away...with the rest of the clones._

Arden pulled herself back fully to the spire, and held tightly with both hands as she extended her reach as far as she could.

She immediately shrank back within herself, uncertain as to exactly what she was looking at.

It was as if stars in the galaxy were simply winking out. She'd lived thousands of years and then some, but Arden Lyn had never seen such complete blackness settle over the galaxy.

She knew instinctively what it must be: This act of treason by the clones was not simply restricted to the temple. This was happening everywhere, on every world, against every Jedi out there with the troops...

_Are none of them fighting back?_

Something dark and powerful moved inside the temple, and Arden gauged the distance between her spire and one of the entrances. For the sake of her Order's neutrality, she knew she ought to simply stay away – go back to Swyfte and the _Wanderer, _and avoid a a confrontation that might turn disastrous.

But the darkness moved and rippled, wreathed in a power she'd not seen in thousands of years. _I'll just take a peek. No one ever started a war over a peek. _She shuffled over to the edge of the spire, spotting a balcony on the temple that she could feasibly reach.

_So the Jedi will fall. _

Arden had known a day like this would come.

But for all her years and vivid imagination, she had never expected it to happen like this.

-----------------------------

The fighting art of teräs käsi was at best a cruel one, demanding more of its students than any other in the galaxy. The tournaments, held in the Outer Rims in order to avoid too much Republic policing, were notoriously bloody.

Many set out to master the ancient practice, and better than half emerged with permanent scars and injuries -- if they made it out at all. But if one _did _master it, the rewards might well outweigh the horrors of the training regimen. Pain might be regulated to some distant part of the psyche, enabling the combatant to go on fighting long after his body said _stop_.

So Joclad Danva sprinted through the temple, all but oblivious to his various wounds. Blood soaked through his tunic in several places, and he was fairly certain he'd at least sprained his ankle following an ill-timed hop from a statue. But the pain was no more than a dull thrum against his nerves, supporting his various lightsaber acrobatics in spite of its soft complaints. His lungs burned and his mind all but bled under the weight of so much death so close to him, but he dared not stop. Not now.

He did not seek to save them all; that chance was lost to him before he even arrived. He could only cut down whatever enemies he found and hope his efforts might be enough to buy some still-living soul a chance to escape.

_Cin. You're still here. Cin. Father. _Cin Drallig still lived, and Joclad raced toward his glowing presence in the Force. No one could kill Cin Drallig; he was too damned ornery. _Run -- run faster, Danva. Clones? Kill them. Nice backspin. Move on. _

He was everywhere and nowhere when he struck. _Faster, faster. _His legs ached; his arms no longer wished to move. _No pain. No pain. _He blocked it all out, only aware of the vaguest sensation of something wrong. There'd be hell to pay once he came down from his high, but he could not stop now.

He shut down one lightsaber and resorted to his fists, spiraling into the midst of a clone squadron and dancing between the shadows.

If only he'd fought like this in his last bout on Bunduki….

_The Jedi has fallen! _Phow Ji's long-ago taunt sounded clearly in his mind. Startled by its ferocity, Joclad stopped in his tracks. A lone soldier lifted his rifle and opened fire, and Joclad snatched his left hand back as hot pain blossomed through his palm and joints. He looked incredulously at the clone, who perhaps realized that he'd just signed his own death warrant. "You shot my _hand_?"

He stretched his injured fingers out, and the rifle flew from the clone's hand into Joclad's. It hurt to even try grasping the gun, so he hurled it aside and stalked forward.

"Backup!" The clone stumbled backward and fumbled for another weapon at his belt. "I need backup!"

Joclad grabbed the clone by the throat and slammed him one-handed against a pillar. "Yes, call for backup. I've killed them all." He yanked the man forward, and then shoved him back again, some vicious vein of the Force making the motion even stronger. The cracking noise the helmet made only served to increase his rage, and he was aware of his own voice issuing curses and threats over the din.

"Just orders…"

The whispered excuse might have earned the soldier mercy, once upon a time. As it was, Joclad kept going, extinguishing his blade and simply pounding the clone against Alderaanian marble until blood ran out from the helmet.

He dropped the body and moved on.

Phow Ji trailed him, haunting his steps as he followed little-known corridors in pursuit of the darkness. _Get up, pathetic Jedi. Or shall I kill you where you lie? Rip your heart from your chest and hold it aloft so your friends might see? Where is your fickle Force now, Jedi? Where?_

"Get out of my head," he muttered, stopping at a cross-corridor and then choosing the direct route. "You're floating in space somewhere. Go away."

_You'll die here tonight, Jedi, and I will laugh to see them feast on your corpse… _

_SHUT UP!_

Phow Ji leered from behind a column, and Joclad lunged, fingers wrapping around his old opponent's neck. "Try to get into my head, will you?"

A startled shriek dissolved the much-loathed face and revealed a tiny Twi'lek padawan, no more than fifteen. Joclad dropped her instantly and backed away, muttering an apology. "Get out," he said, "get out if you can…"

"Master Danva…" The quake in her voice told Joclad she wouldn't last long with all the clones. "…you're _fighting…_"

At least, he _thought_ she said _you're fighting_. He answered it in the affirmative: "I'll fight forever."

He'd said the same thing to Phow Ji before self-preservation kicked in and ended the bout before the native of Bunduki could land a killing blow. _Not that it's done much for me in the long run. _

Joclad left the padawan standing there. _I can't help you. Sorry. _Lucidity returned, and with it some pain. He slowed his pace and tried to catch his breath.

_I'll fight forever. I'll fight forever. _It would be his battlecry if he escaped this carnage. _I'll fight forever…. _

He pushed a hand along the wall to keep himself upright. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer; his body demanded rest and a dip in the bacta tank, but he could only promise further action. It was all he had left.

Joclad forged ahead anyway, subconsciously holding his left hand against his chest in hopes that it might heal.

Maybe right afterward, he'd wake up from this nightmare.

Something in the depths of the temple flared – a shock of bright light in the Force – and he paused. Something felt… _different. _He could not say what, but when he reached out to question it, his senses were dulled by the overwhelming presence of Darkness.

_Darkness, Darkness, everywhere… _Joclad picked up his pace again. _Something is going to happen, something always happens…. _

The Twi'lek padawan's statement pushed through the crowded confines of his mind. _You're fighting. You're fighting. You're…_bleeding? Had she said that?

_You're bleeding._

It made more sense, now that he thought of it.

_You're bleeding. _

He lifted his good hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at his fingers as he staggered to a stop behind one of the ruined statues. In the flickering overhead lights, he made out the crimson stickiness of his own blood sticking to them.

He realized that even if his mind hadn't recognized the Twi'lek's observation, his voice had.

_I'll bleed forever..._

_-----------------------------------------------_

Joclad reached the glassed-in observation chamber in record time, nearly ramming into the window that overlooked the dueling room. Bodies littered the floor -- _bodies_ -- _death _-- _where are you, Cin, I still feel you, something is coming..._

Anakin Skywalker had Cin Drallig in a chokehold. Joclad ran for the doorway, lightsabers back in his hands. He had to get to Cin. _Had to. _

He felt the stab through the remnants of the training bond as a slice right into his middle. He looked out the transparisteel again, eyes wide.

"_NO!"_

Skywalker held the man transfixed on his lightsaber for a moment, appearing to say something to him. No sound carried up; Cin remained stoic, his expression tight even now. Skywalker slashed upward, shredding organs and burning through flesh.

From his point in the observation tower high above the arena, Joclad Danva watched the only father he really remembered crumple to the floor.

_There is no death, there is only the Force._

The calm delivery of the phrase, repeated so often, suddenly enraged him. _Lies, lies, lies! There is only death now! _

Self-control and caution vanished, replaced by a terrible savagery that felt as if it sparked out of his eyes. He all but flew the last few meters to the door, and ignored the throbbing pain in his left hand as he called his second hilt back to it. Pain meant nothing to him now; the only thought he could formulate was to engage Skywalker and tear him into microscopic pieces, preferably with his bare hands.

Skywalker looked up as Joclad burst into the room, and twirled his blue blade in challenge. "This should be interesting…."

Joclad charged at him with both lightsabers, bringing one blade up and the other down. Skywalker stepped aside and blocked the first thrust, but Joclad immediately compensated with an overhand swing. He slapped Skywalker's weapon aside and lashed out with the right hilt, raising a thin line of smoke along the traitor's tabards.

Skywalker laughed. He _laughed. _

Joclad whirled and thrust at him again, drawing on every ounce of skill he possessed. _I'll kill you where you stand, traitor. _His anger drove his weapons into ever-faster patterns, dual blades casting half his face in terrible light as he pushed the saber dance to its limits. Skywalker matched his every move, somehow thrusting his blade between killing blows and stopping them in mid-swing.

"You can't save them," Skywalker said, Force-shoving Joclad several steps back. "There's no one left to fight for, Danva! They're all dead!"

Joclad scarcely saw where that mattered. _Then I'll avenge them…_

He crouched down as he blocked an overhead swing, and swiped at Skywalker's boots with his other 'saber. _I'll kill you, you gods-awful demon, I'll kill you!_

"Keep trying," Skywalker said. "C'mon, Danva, you're better than this."

The jape worked with his anger, and new stamina flooded through him. _Stupid boy. _Joclad hammered at Skywalker with his green blade and went for abdomen and legs with the blue, striking hard enough to make the traitor's mechanical arm waver.

Skywalker held up his left hand, but Joclad dug in his heels and held his weapons vertically in front of him, leaning slightly forward to counter the Force-shove. It was like standing in the windswept plains of Laerae… but this wind, _Skywalker_'s wind, bit into his face and hands and threatened to send him hurtling into a wall if he did not resist.

The pressure subsided, and Joclad bared his teeth in a dark smile. "You'll find there are more difficult things to kill than padawans, Knight Skywalker."

They met again in the center of the dueling chamber. Blue and green mixed with the orange and red of the fires outside, and Joclad summoned what he could of the Force. _Two can play this game, _he thought, trying to fling the boy against the wall.

Skywalker scarcely reacted to the shove. "Where is the great hero of Bunduki? Phow Ji must have killed your will to win entirely."

Joclad's temper flared. _We'll see about that. _

"Not that you'll get a chance to best him again… he's dead."

Joclad turned slightly to the side and backhanded him with both 'sabers, calling on the Force again and willing it to power the blow. Quick as a feral street-dikta on Ord Mantell, Skywalker caught the green blade on the edge of his weapon, and held up his living hand. Joclad's blue 'saber froze in place. "Yes... I think he _did_ take the heart out of you… or maybe the arena did that…."

Skywalker's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Joclad felt a strange prickling in his head, as though fingers--

--_he's pawing through my mind! _Frantic, he tried to clamp down on the memories and fears the Dark Lord might use against him. _Shut it all down, shut it down, lock away Cin and and Bunduki and Phow Ji and Depa, lock it away…. _

Not good enough. Skywalker smiled. "You're hiding it from me…hiding…Depa? Depa Billaba on Geonosis…"

_How is he _doing_ that? _Joclad scowled at him. He didn't bother trying to return the favor; diving into the minds of others had never been one of his particular gifts, and he didn't care to find out what Skywalker currently had swimming around in his shaggy little head.

Skywalker's mouth turned downward slightly, and he appeared to concentrate. "You were so happy to see her, after the gunships left you…but Depa's not able to save you now, is she?"

Joclad's mind froze. Depa was still in the temple, and unable to save _herself_, much less anyone else. If Skywalker knew….

Too late, he realized the trap and clamped down on his thoughts.

"I'm sure I'll have a wonderful time watching her die," Skywalker said. Joclad remained quiet, but something in his expression must have changed, for Skywalker gave him a cold grin. "I had no idea you were so interested in her well-being, Danva. Maybe you'd like to come watch?"

They stood there for a nanosecond, lightsabers pushing at one another, and Joclad felt the familiar fire racing through his veins. Cin was gone. Serra was in a broken pile on the floor. Dack and thousands of others, snuffed out b before they could so much as sense the danger.

_What if it's just me left? Me, and… him? _A Jedi and a Sith. Gods, it sounded like one of Dack's stupid holoflicks that he'd so dearly adored before the war.

Joclad leaned over the crossed blades. "You won't lay a finger on her."

Skywalker absorbed the statement, and nodded thoughtfully. "Who's going to stop me? I'm going to kill you tonight, Danva. You must realize that."

Joclad subtly tried to extract his blue 'saber from the Force-vice in which the Sith had captured it. "If it takes my life to end yours, then so be it."

The golden eyes rolled in amusement. "Grand words, Danva. You watched the same holovids I did."

Joclad wrenched his blue blade free and stabbed at Skywalker's head. The boy jerked to the side, but then had to leap backward to avoid the lancing green blade. Joclad advanced further, trying to force the dark thing up against a wall. _They always get flustered when their back is to a wall, _he was fond of saying. He brought both blades inward from opposite directions, only to have Skywalker flip backward and land safely out of the way.

Joclad persisted. He didn't care whether he lived or died anymore; his sole existence now -- his last duty -- was to kill this Dark Lord, this _thing…_before it got to the rest of them.

_I'll do whatever I have to._

A hot and terrible power built in him, and Skywalker's eyes widened slightly. Joclad pinned the boy's blade overhead and smiled nastily at him. _Yes…I can feel the Dark, too, can't I? I can use it as you do…. _

Skywalker lifted his blade high and brought it down with the Force behind it. Joclad crossed his 'sabers, catching the blue plasma in the center and then casting it aside. _If_ _Darkness can beat him, then Darkness, I call on you! _

The Darkness responded, and power swept through his weary limbs. Exhaustion was a thing of the past; he was stronger, faster, _better _then he'd been in years. He and Skywalker raged across the sparring room, their blades singeing walls and destroying what remained of the holocrons.

_Never give in to the Dark_, an ancient Jedi whispered from his platform. Joclad hit Skywalker's blade hard enough to slam it into the projection device, and the man's image vanished in a shower of sparks. The Jedi's voice, however, refused to be silenced. _Give in to the Dark, _he said, his recording damaged by the blow. _Give in to the Dark…._

Joclad laughed and shoved Skywalker off-kilter. _The Force is with me after all! _The merest taste of Darkness gave him such strength – could Skywalker even _hope _to stand against him if he immersed himself fully? If he gave in to the Dark and defeated the wretched little boy before him, the clones would stop, wouldn't they? He'd stop the slaughter before it progressed further.

_I'll save_ _Depa. She can lead the survivors. _

Joclad ducked an overhead thrust and took a swipe at Skywalker's boots. _He'll do much greater damage if he gets out of the temple. That _must _not happen!_ If nothing else, the Sith had to die here and now. And if it took the sacrifice of Joclad's soul to save the rest, to save _her_…_gods, will it be worth it?_

The answer came to him clearly. _Depa…must live..._

He could think of no better reason to fall to the shadows.

_Darkness, make me strong. _The Force sparked brightly in his mind, and the orange glow from the fire outside the chamber was suddenly not unlike the red moon of Bunduki. Joclad hurled the blue blade at Skywalker, using his power to send it dancing around the creature's head, and suddenly Joclad Danva was no longer a mere Knight facing indescribable evil. No, he was a creature of light and dark, blurring the grey lines into nothing more than nightfall. _Darkness, make me strong. Strong enough to kill him. _

He stepped confidently into the role of the teräs käsi warrior. _Revel in the kill_, the old texts whispered. _Give him blood and pain. _

_Blood and pain..._

Joclad grew bold in his strikes. Too bold. He was young and strong, a warrior in the prime of his abilities, and in those few moments he felt it, knew it, _believed _it. _I am Joclad Danva, Jedi Knight, Sith-killer! _No mere Code-breaker. No mere warrior. Something _more…. _

"Don't stretch too far," Skywalker cautioned, shoving his 'saber forward. "You're weakening. I feel it…."

"Chosen One or not," Joclad said as he pinned Skywalker's blade to the wall, "_I _will stop you!"

They were two demons of the same breed, fallen from the Light and destined for nothing less than the dance of death. It would have made a fine recording for the Archives, if they still existed.

Snarling, Joclad tore into Skywalker, every ounce of energy he possessed funneled toward one goal, one _purpose_: death. It was his only meaning.

_Give in to the Dark…and perish…_

In the end, even his rage-fueled strength could not stand against the terrifying blunt manifestation of the Chosen One's darkest side. Skywalker struck Joclad's left blade hard enough to jar open his weakened fingers. Joclad reached desperately for the weapon, trying to bring his right 'saber up in time to block the incoming thrust.

The other hilt flew back to his hand, but blue fire blazed across his chest as Skywalker sliced him horizontally, opening a gash from his shoulder to his hip. Joclad leaped back with Force-assisted speed, but his newfound power dissolved under a mass of confused pain that began and ended with the howling intensity of his wounded mind. The strength seeped from his arms, and raising the 'sabers to defend against Skywalker's borderline-cheerful blows became the most arduous task in the galaxy.

_Depa_, he thought as the left blade went spinning away. He grasped the remaining one – the green – with both hands, keeping his right fingers curled tightly around his left to hold them in position. He lifted the blade as high as his torn and exhausted body could bear and brought it down against Skywalker's shoulder with brutal ferocity. _Depa. I have to protect her…. _

Skywalker brushed his strike away as if it were nothing more than an irritating little insect.

Joclad's fortitude could no longer match his intent. He watched the delicate arc of the Sith Lord's weapon as it twirled and danced before him, nothing less than a death sentence in the guise of lightning. Anakin Skywalker -- Darth Skywalker, now? -- had won this fight, and could relish its finale as he liked.

And relish it he did. "I don't like you standing," Skywalker commented, twitching the fingers of his flesh hand. Dimly, Joclad felt tremendous power in his mind just before he dropped to his knees, his lightsaber still held in front of him. _You just want me on my knees because I'm taller than you, _he tried sending, but Skywalker gave no indication of receiving the taunt.

Joclad concentrated, trying to break the hold and regain his capacities. The Force writhed and sparked inside him, but he'd never had to throw off something so strong from his mind. He didn't know where to start.

Skywalker gave him a bored look. "KnightDanva, so sorry I'll have to end this little session…"

Subtle Force-pressure on his neck suggested that the Sith wanted him to look down. Joclad fought it off, and stared unwaveringly into Skywalker's glinting red-gold gaze until his neck ached from the strain of resistance. "You should look your enemy in the eye when you kill him… scum."

At last Skywalker shrugged. "Stare all you want. It makes no difference to me."

"See that it doesn't," Joclad whispered, hands still frozen around his lightsaber. _Cin, Depa… forgive me my failure…. _

The Sith Lord lifted his blade for the killing blow, not quite looking at his prey. It gave Joclad a little victory, in the end.

_Thus ended the fighting days of Joclad Danva_, Phow Ji's voice taunted. _Born a rat on Ord Mantell, died a broken man on Coruscant. You should have let _me_ kill you. There'd be more honor in it._

Joclad hurled the hated voice aside. _Force, do not let my last thought be of Phow Ji. _

Skywalker's blade flashed downward.

In his mind's eye, Depa smiled.


	10. Without a Light

_This was originally supposed to go up on Valentine's Day, but there was an… issue… with hives… so, here it is now. I'm afraid it's not a very V-day themed chapter. _

_**Wellingtonboots – **Thanks! I liked Serra a lot too – she was a lot of fun in the video game. I fear this may take a bit of a u-turn from the accepted canon, though everything that happened in the movie still happens (think of it as behind the scenes). Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy it. _

_------------------_

_Preface: _

_I always wondered why Darth Vader wanted Arden Lyn to beat up members of the Alliance. So, I gave him a reason… _

_------------------------_

_9. Without a Light_

"Aren't you going to at least make him beg?"

The lightsaber skimmed millimeters over his head, cutting through empty air as Skywalker whirled around.

Joclad Danva exhaled, and still lived.

He turned his head with some effort to see what had just saved him. In the shattered doorway, dramatically backlit by the hellish flames of the burning temple, stood a woman.

The fact that she was standing there at all made Joclad wonder if he were hallucinating. Or maybe he was dead already, and now he was trapped in some sort of uneven limbo, doomed to fight the same battles over and over again. Nonetheless, his would-be savior clearly needed a little correcting. "I don't _beg_."

"I wasn't really talking to you," the woman said, "but I'll make a note of that."

"Who are you?" Skywalker demanded.

Joclad looked in the direction his other 'saber had flown off, and spotted the hilt gleaming dully in a corner. He stretched his left hand for it, but as it skittered against the scorched tiles, he realized he lacked the strength to summon it. _Damn. _

He thought the woman chuckled. "I'm someone who has a severe dislike for executions," she said, coming closer. Nearly-black hair brushed her shoulders, and she was clad in a simple black outfit. Not a single weapon – blade or blaster – adorned it. "I prefer a straight fight to the death, to be honest."

Skywalker looked at her incredulously. "What, precisely, do you think it is we're doing here?"

_The one who carries no weapon is the one to be watched most carefully. _Joclad swayed to his feet, pain racing through every joint and muscle in his body. The woman stopped a few meters away, hands clasped behind her back. "I know both your faces."

"A shame – they'll be the last you see." Skywalker – _Darth Anakin, _Joclad decided– bolted toward her. Joclad did his best to surge after him, but only crashed to his knees again in exhaustion, a reddish haze creeping across his eyes. _Am I bleeding? I must be bleeding. Maybe my eyes are bleeding. Oh, that wouldn't be good. _

Darth Anakin's azure blade swept toward the woman in a precise, body-cutting arc. Or at least, Joclad thought it did. It was hard to see beyond the haze, but Skywalker had either misjudged the woman's position or she simply moved with impossible speed.

It was like watching a dream play out. This woman – _is she real? Did I dream her up as I died?_ – danced around a Dark Lord of the Sith with all the precision and grace of a Laeraen skyrider. Skywalker chopped away at her, but she dodged over and around each blow so perfectly….

She rolled forward, skimming underneath the blade and leaping upward, practically smashing into Skywalker. As he brought his weapon inward, though, the woman's right fist came up and out. There was a surge in the Force, and the last thing Joclad saw of Anakin Skywalker were his boots as the boy sailed out the fractured doors and over the balcony, presumably to land several stories down.

_I know that move, _he realized. _Rancor-rising… _Phow Ji had used it on him to great effect. But Joclad had never seen it used like _that. _

Looking closer at the woman, he felt he ought to recognize her. "Teräs käsi?" The words sounded weak at best.

She looked at him. "You're still here?"

Joclad shut down his remaining 'saber and, with some effort, clipped it back to his belt. He regarded the woman uneasily from his spot on the floor and wondered when the room had started spinning.

She was suddenly next to him, and a cool hand pressed against his forehead. "Joclad Danva, master of teräs käsi," she said, her voice slightly grating but not unpleasant. "What happened here?"

He shook his head. The haze in front of his eyes thickened, until all he could see was the diffused orange of the fires that still raged outside. "Where is he?"

"There are some Knights below us causing him trouble," she said. She touched his shoulder, and the haze slowly dissipated. "Last holdouts. Let me see that hand."

He obediently held it out and caught the edge of her disapproving examination. "Nerve damage," she said, and Joclad jumped as icy-hot fire shot through the appendage in question. "How did you manage this?"

"I wanted to save the… the her…" He wavered, and then doubled over as that same freezing fire nearly blew through his entire body. "_Gah! _What'd—what'd—"

But nearly as soon as it started, the pain vanished. Joclad opened his eyes and lifted his head, staring around the room with startling clarity. The woman stood there gazing at him rather bemusedly, and he caught a hint of a smile. "Feeling better?"

"What'd…" He took a deep breath and banished the pain from Skywalker's little gift to a distant corner of his mind. "What'd you _do _to me?"

"Don't worry so much about _what_, Danva. It won't last long, and I don't have the strength to heal you fully. You'd best go while he's… occupied."

Joclad looked at his hand. The damage from the blaster was still there, and it still felt like a bantha had stomped on it, but when he reached out for his missing lightsaber the hilt flew to his palm without hesitation. _I've heard of jump-starting a system with the Force, but… no, Joclad, stop thinking, it's bad for you. _His fingers remained stiff and outstretched, unresponsive to his various efforts to close around the hilt. At last he grasped the fingers with his right hand, and, closing his eyes against the pain, bent them into position around the hilt one at a time.

He opened his eyes again and nodded. It would have to do.

With some effort, he flicked the blade on and took comfort in its reassuring hum. "Oh, I'll _go_," he said, getting to his feet. He tested his legs out, and found he could walk without too much trouble. Dropping down to the levels below would probably kill him outright, but maybe if he fell on Skywalker…

He made for the balcony.

"Don't."

It was just one word, and spoken very quietly, but it stopped him in his tracks. He slowly turned around to stare at her. _All right, she needs more correcting_. "He can't get loose. You… I don't know what you are, but you saw what he could do. I have to stop him."

She shook her head. "By splattering bits of yourself on him when that fall pulverizes you? You're alive, Danva, but only just. Don't push it."

_Why are we having this conversation now? And how? _He regarded her uneasily. "And what is it you propose I do? Run away?" He spat a mouthful of blood out with the words, staining the tiled floors further.

She folded her arms. "You say run away, I say take cover. Those Jedi down there may earn you a reprieve, Danva, but not a long one. You can't save them anyway; you must know that. Make your choice."

"I won't leave. Not when there's still fighting. Not while I can still—I can still—" But could he? He tried twirling the left 'saber and had to grind his teeth to keep from crying out. Force, if he went down there he'd get skewered in an instant, even with his good right blade.

The woman gave no response, and Joclad felt his temper rising again. "What do you suggest I do, then? Run between the shadows and wait for him to seek me out?"

She looked at him appraisingly. "There are worse things than the life of an exile, Joclad Danva."

_How would you know? _Something told him that wasn't the brightest question to ask. "Who _are _you?"

She came no closer, but he caught a glint of light in her eyes, and sensed strange power flickering around her. "He needs you," she said. Joclad blinked at the information, and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, the woman vanished.

He stood there, not entirely sure that he could keep his feet. _Who needs me?_

He heard a soft rustle of cloth across tile. Joclad wheeled just enough to see Cin move his hand, and pain was forgotten. The green 'saber slipped from his clenched fingers, leaving an unsightly mark against the floor before it shut down.

"Cin! Master Drallig!" He scooped the man up in his arms, and blanched upon seeing the round hole in his middle. No human's innards could survive such a cruel blow with a lightsaber. "Master..."

"Joclad?" Watery blue eyes opened, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, Joclad thought he saw genuine, unmasked pleasure there. Cin lifted his hand, gently touching the younger man's face. "Joclad, you _are _alive... Skywalker said... thought it was a dream… powers and… you're _alive_…"

"I'm alive," he whispered, trying to block out the terrible burning in his mind. _Though only just. _

"Good form," the man said. He caught Joclad's useless left hand with his and squeezed it tightly, seemingly unaware of the scorched flesh. Joclad bore it as best he could and tried not to cringe. "Good form… watch out… for the Dark…"

Joclad longed to shout for a medic, a healer, anything -- such things were ingrained in him by now – but he knew no one would come. _No one but the Sith_. "I cleared out some of the clones, but there are too many, and I—"

"You must go," Cin said. "Take who you can and get out."

"No! They need me here, I can still fight, and we--"

"Don't be an idiot," Cin groused. His eyes slid shut, but fluttered open again. "They'll get you one way or another, Joclad, but don't let them get you _here_."

"Skywalker," Joclad said. "I have to stop him--"

"He's Darth now. Darth Something. A Sith." Cin clutched at his wrist. "A _Sith_! He'll sense you. You can get rid of it -- you can push the Force away so he won't see you--"

"Stop talking, we can--"

Cin cracked him lightly across the face. "Don't be stupid, just _listen to me! _He's finding us by our signatures. Cut yourself off. _Don't let him see you._ You're worth more alive than you are dead."

_Am I even alive anymore? I can't really tell. _Joclad struggled to infuse the man's fading life-force with his own, only to find his hand batted aside.

"Stop it, son. I'm on my deathbed. Accept it, take my last words, and _leave_." Cin's eyes shut again.

_I faced off a Dark Lord of the Sith and he's going to die on me?_ "No."

The eyes snapped back open. "What do you mean _no_?"

"You can't die," he said firmly. _You still have to lecture me about what I did a few minutes ago… what I tried to do… _

Cin rolled his eyes. "Who's going to stop me? You? I'm dying, and that's all there is to it."

Joclad almost laughed at the absurdity of it, arguing with a dying -- but clearly still obstinate -- master. The chuckle barely made it past his throat, and it turned into a strangled, desperate sound. "I don't know what to do, Cin. Everyone's dead."

"Everyone dies. You know that. You'll remember when you stop wallowing."

Joclad nodded mutely.

Drallig took Joclad's left hand and pressed his lightsaber into it. When it didn't stick, he frowned, but looked back up at his former apprentice wearily. "Joclad. About the teräs käsi..."

"Master…"

"Use it. You'll need it. The Sith are in command again, and the rules have changed."

Joclad bowed his head. "I know." _Oh, how I know. _

Cin tried to smile. "The rules have finally _changed_...and I don't get to see it. Well, that's just the Force. Ah. Joclad. Yes. Padawan..." Joclad stared down at him, unwilling to fully accept what was happening. "A willful padawan. That's what you were. Stubborn. Better Knight, I think. You and Serra and I, pretty strange family unit...be careful, there's more of them now…more for the Darkness…."

"Master," Joclad whispered. _Father… _

"Get out, Code-breaker," Cin told him. "Live and fight another day."

He felt his master die, and bowed his head. Tears prickled sharply at his eyes, and he covered his face with one hand. _No, this isn't happening, this can't be happening...you stupid old man, how can you die on me like this?_

Cin's voice floated to him then, with one last reassuring touch against his mind. _Oh, don't be so melodramatic. _

And then Cin Drallig was simply another hole in the Force.

-------------------------------

Once, long ago, someone had saved him.

_Don't give up, _the gentle voice said_. Don't give up now. Come back. _

_You're too late,_ he whispered to the fragment of memory. He'd heard these words before, on the windswept mountain of a far-off world_. I'm done. I can't go any further. I can't… _

_Please, _she said_. Stay here. Stay with me. Live for me… _

Her fingers touched his face, and he caught the sweet scent of the bree-vines clinging to his rescuer. _I've got a ship_, the memory said. _Come on. Hold on to me_…

All those years ago, he saw her as if for the first time.

And he stayed.

--------------------------------

In the strange waking dream between a healing trance and sheer exhaustion, Joclad staggered out of the arena on Geonosis. The gunships had come and gone, leaving him for dead when a blasted Super Battle Droid had shot through his defenses. He felt the weight of his lost compatriots as clearly as the sandy, blood-soaked air of the arena, and his trip to the tunnels was slowed by stumbling over the remains of both droid and Jedi.

His eyes opened, and he was still kneeling beside Cin's still form. He sensed the Darth Anakin somewhere in the lower levels of the temple, battling a last barrage of attacks from the pinned-down Jedi.

He picked up the 'saber he'd dropped and clipped it to his belt, and held Cin's old hilt for a few seconds. Maybe Cin hadn't seen him dive into shadow during the fight with Skywalker…

_Of course he didn't. You shamed him by doing that. __You're lucky he was passed out. _

_Master… forgive how far I've already fallen. _He clipped Cin's lightsaber to his belt also, and then stretched his hand out for a less obvious weapon.

The blaster rifle flew to him, but the very motion of grasping it properly with both hands hurt. _Give your pain to the Force… slowly… open to the Light, Joclad, it's still there…_

But the Light did not respond. _Must be Darth Anakin's fault, _he decidedHe tucked the gun under his arm and glumly regarded the bodies on the floor: Cin, Serra, and yes, little Bene, still clutching her lightsaber. Joclad felt around on his belt with his good hand and wondered how the hell he was supposed to put a pyre together for three Jedi when he could barely move.

_I can't even send them to the sky-kings, _he thought bitterly. For a brief, hysterical instant, he thought of torching the whole temple; why not set the entire blasted _building _ablaze? Let his home become a pyre to all the dead it now housed….

_But then I'd be on fire, too, _he reasoned. _I don't like being on fire. _

Instead, he stood in front of the shattered balcony and held out his right hand. The fires that raged in the spires and floors below flickered and jumped at the edge of his conscious, just outside of his power's grasp. Hot wind cast his hair about his face, and he deepened his connection to the Force. _Listen to me. Listen to me! Please, just this once. Listen to me… listen to me…._

The fire listened. It crept upward, its arms embracing the balcony and smoothing inward. Joclad felt blood trickling out of his nose as he closed his hand into a fist, asking the fire to turn inward on itself. _Listen to me…listen to me… _the Force might help him now, but he knew he'd pay dearly for this excursion later.

A tiny flame landed at his feet, and awaited his command.

He guided the flame into the room, and took one last look at the shattered holocrons and the tapestries that had always disgusted Master Drallig. _I'm redecorating for you, Cin. You're welcome. _

He opened his fist, and the fire breathed. Sparks and embers jumped from one object to the next, burning hot and bright. Joclad waited until the room was in flames to respectfully back away, but still he stood in the doorway, watching as the blaze grew beyond his control and simply took over.

"The Corellians say it all ends in fire," he said to the dead within the room. "Maybe one day we'll meet again."

_But maybe we won't. _

Joclad left without saying anything else. Cin and Serra were lost forever, but there was yet one tiny spark of hope left in him.

He found the way to Depa's little room on instinct alone. No bodies cluttered this hallway; perhaps Skywalker and the clones hadn't gotten to her yet. He needed to take her somewhere, anywhere - he could not leave her in this smoking ruin, now a tomb to so many Jedi.

_I'll find you, Depa -- we'll get out of here. _He had no idea where they'd go, or what he'd do with her -- she'd be deadweight, at most -- but he couldn't leave her here. Not here. Not this way. Not when she was the one thing left that might still be _good. _

_I'll find a way to wake you up, _he promised as he limped toward the door. _I swear it, Depa. I swear no harm will come to you. I'll die before I let them hurt you. _

He swore the oaths like a Rogue Knight of the old stories, dropping the vows into existence as they came to his mind. _I'm going to live, and so are you. I'm going to protect you…. _

He palmed the door. It slid open silently, and the gentle scent of bree vines caressed his senses. He took a deep breath of the sweet fragrance before stepping inside, ready to scoop Depa into his arms and rush for the nearest exit.

And he would have, if Depa Billaba had still been there.

Joclad stared blankly at the empty bed, and then surveyed the rest of the room. "Depa?"

His voice sounded terribly hoarse. He leaned forward, looking under the bed – _what? She might be under the bed, I might hide under the bed if the Chosen One went—stop it, Joclad, she's not under the blasted bed! She's not anywhere!_

He knelt on the floor, casting his depleted power as best he could. He felt no sign of the Sith, but then, darling Ani Skywalker had learned to shield as he pleased, hadn't he? He touched the pillow and felt the slightest hints of Depa's empty presence, and something -- something _dark -- _

Skywalker? It didn't quite feel like Skywalker.

It didn't matter. It was dark, and it had taken Depa.

_My oaths_, he thought, _my oaths are useless. I couldn't even stop him… couldn't save you… _

"He was going to kill you in front of me," he said, running his fingers down the indentation where her body had lain. "He pulled you from my mind so easily…."

_She's not here, you fool. Why are you still talking to her? _

He closed his eyes tightly, holding back the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to swamp him. The fights, the battles, the _loss_ – it all jumped into his mind at once, and he put his head into his hands. _She's gone, they're all gone, I'm gone--control your emotions, Danva!--I can't do this--I have to--my head is going to explode… _

_There is no emotion, there is peace…there is no emotion, there is peace…._

But there was no peace; only raw, blunted emotion that he was not quite sure what to do with. _I was doing it for her… but she's gone… the Light is gone…. _

He straightened up. He had no time to wallow; he needed to get out and find a place to stay until he could properly contact someone.

Or maybe he'd just die of his wounds. _I can crawl to some dark part of the city and they'll never find me. _Yes, let the urchins have their share of the Jedi Knights….

He rested a hand on the wall to keep upright, and looked back around the room once more.

_Depa..._

His thin call returned nothing, and the strength went out of him. He leaned all his weight against the wall, its cool durasteel surface soothing his burning wounds.

_Depa, I'm so sorry, I tried… I'm sorry… I never should have…. _

Anger had but one rival in its potency, and that was guilt.

"I would have protected you from anything," he said to the empty chamber before he left. In the hallway, he cut himself away from the Force completely. The very action nearly downed him again, but he stubbornly held on to what remained of the teräs käsi and staggered for an exit. Clones might find him, but for someone searching for a presence in the Force, he was invisible.

Depa was gone.

Something inside him vanished with her.


	11. Burning City

**Disclaimer: **George owns it. I just play with it... and apparently rescue it from death on Geonosis, only to get it beaten up by a Sith Lord and make it hang out with a sleazy drug dealer.

----------------

_10. Burning City_

Joclad hacked his way through the last troops that stood in his path, and then paused in the cool evening air, breathing in the ash that shielded the midnight sky. He'd probably get shot on general principle the instant he tried to find shelter; no one was going to open their doors to a bloodied and thoroughly wicked-looking wanderer, even if he did claim to be a Jedi.

_Well, if I'm going to die, I might as well go back in there and make _them _do it… _

The very thought of it only hardened his resolve to live. _No. I won't give them the satisfaction of my death. Not today. _

The Force intervened in the form of broken-down speeder that landed right in front of him. He stared blankly at its dark-haired, dark-eyed occupant for several seconds before realizing he knew this woman – or should know her. She gaped at him, and then _beyond _him, and Joclad turned around once more to look at the fires that still flickered along the top of the building.

"Danva," she said. Her voice sounded as though it came from a great distance. And then he _did _remember her – runner-up to a blonde warrior in one of the divisional championships on Bunduki. He thought he knew her from somewhere else -- _Depa, she knew Depa, and there was another man with them…. _Not that it mattered. She was here, she had a speeder...

"_Danva_," she repeated.

He recognized her military uniform and instantly yanked his arm free of her grasp, hand dropping to one of the three hilts at his belt. "Small galaxy, isn't it, Ralter?"

She saw the motion, and there was a vibroblade in her fist before he could so much as curl his fingers around one of the lightsabers. Joclad grinned darkly. "So now they're sending security officers to finish off the job?"

"I'm not with them," she said hurriedly. "I don't know what's happening, but I saw the news and—"

Without the Force, he lacked a sufficient method of scanning her, but the abject horror in her eyes sufficed for the time being. After the cool efficiency of the clones, a little emotion was almost pleasant to see. He studied her again, but kept his hands away from his belt. After a moment, she put the vibroblade away.

_Cut her down before she turns you in! _The idea almost appealed, but Joclad found he lacked the energy to slice her into little Nubian pieces.

"Sabé," he said. He hoped that was her name.

"Yes." The relief was evident in her voice. "Are there others?"

"No." He looked back at the burning temple, and then at her. "Just shadows and ashes."

She said things, or at least he thought she did. Her lips moved, and there was noise, but it could not overcome the muted roar in his ears or the singular pulse of each death through the Force. When she asked _c_ asked asked _an I take you somewhere_, he nodded, and climbed into the speeder.

He gave directions, sending her down streets and between familiar buildings. It did not occur to him as to just _where _they were going until they were over halfway there; upon realizing what their intended destination was, he decided he really was quite clever.

"I used to joke about escaping from the temple," he said, after the silence became too strained. Basic diplomacy suggested that he at least _try _to have a courteous conversation with his rescuer. "Whenever the Council deliberated about letting me fight in the tournaments…."

"I heard," she said. She sounded like she was just trying to fill in the void as well. "Shard used to talk about it."

Joclad examined his injured hand, trying to bend the fingers back and forth without much luck. _Sithspit, that's not going to heal well. _"Shard?"

"You knew him as Privos."

_Oh. Privos. I talked to Dack, Dack talked to Privos…sneaky little Corellian. _He looked at Ralter and saw her watching him from the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat. "I _joked _about escaping… I never… I never thought…."

"It's all right."

He closed his eyes against the rushing wind, drawing deep breaths and trying to find a calm center to focus on. It proved as elusive as catching a wind-spinner back in his home city. After a few seconds he gave up and turned back to Ralter with a serious expression. "How about the weather we've been having?"

Ralter sucked in a breath, but otherwise betrayed no discomfort. "It's nice," she said. "Very temperate."

Conversation stilled again.

Joclad looked out over the side at the city rushing by underneath him. "I like it better with fog," he said. "Not as much sun." Inwardly, he kicked himself. _You idiot! Stop talking! _

"You don't like sun?" Ralter asked.

"I like sun. Just not in my eyes." _Danva, stop it now. Before she flips the thing and lets you plummet to the bottom of the city. _He reached for a safety restraint, and realized this junked-up excuse for a speeder lacked them entirely. _Well, I guess she can't flip and drop me… she'll fall out too._

The thought heartened him somewhat.

They spoke no more, though Joclad had to fight down an almost irresistible urge to talk about their respective placings in their final teräs käsi tournaments. When the air no longer tasted of ash, he reached hesitantly for the Force, and nearly danced a jig when it responded to his call. _This ought to be far enough away… he can't trace me here…. _

Ralter steered the speeder with skill, eventually landing in front of a dilapidated-looking apartment building. "What can I do? Is there anything—"

He put a finger to her lips, and then waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You didn't see me… you don't know who I am."

Ralter paused, and then gave him a weak smile. "Didn't work. Try again?"

Joclad huffed and strengthened his suggestion. "I _said_… you didn't _see_ me…?"

Cin's words, tinged with amusement, came back to him: _You're just not a deceiver, Joclad. _

Fine. He could work with that. "Pretend you didn't see me," he ordered.

Ralter saluted him. "Will do."

She floored the accelerator, and the speeder dove back into the night with a tortured howl. Joclad watched the dim glow of its running lights until they vanished entirely into traffic, and dimly hoped Ralter's attempt to help him would go unpunished.

He cut himself off from the Force again. _Just in case, _he told himself. _Just in case the Sith comes looking… _if Joclad's destiny was to live, then Darth Skywalker needed to believe that Knight Danva died in the fire that had, if he were particularly lucky, consumed much of the northern tower.

It was only when he reached for the building's door that he realized he hadn't thanked Ralter.

----------------

Elan Sleazebaganno was munching on a particularly delicious batch of seasoned nerf sticks when his door unit chimed.

He checked the chrono. Busby wasn't due with another load of deathsticks for two hours, and anyone else could wait. Elan popped another nerf stick into his mouth and tried to lose himself in the zesty, gently-spiced flavor that--

_BANG. BANG. BANG. _

Someone wasn't taking a hint.

He sighed, carrying the bucket with him as he tiptoed to the front door. He keyed up the camera and instantly leaped back in horror as Joclad Danva's blood-splattered face filled the screen.

_Oh, hell, who squeaked me out this time? _Elan stood very still and tried to ignore the fact that Danva's hazel eyes appeared to be boring right into his. Danva and Meridian had pretty much left him alone since they'd come back from Geonosis, making the war the best thing that had ever happened to Elan's business. But now the _scary _one was back. And on a buying night, too. _Maybe I can pretend I'm not here..._

Danva raised an eyebrow at the camera. "I know you're there, dear Balosar."

_Stupid Jedi super-senses! _Elan clutched his nerf sticks. If Danva showed up without Meridian to control him, bad things might happen. _Please go away, please go away!_

"I can hear you breathing."

Elan sucked in his breath and held it. Maybe the Rodian down the hall would start into one of her late-night tirades and distract Danva long enough for Elan to make a run for it. He could probably squeeze out one of the windows if he really tried….

"Let me in, Sleazebaggano, or you'll be sorry."

Elan sighed and opened the door, because it would probably be worse _not _to open it. "I assure you, I already am. And I've been clean for--hey!" He was roughly pushed aside as Danva staggered in, armed with no less than _three _lightsabers _and_ a blaster rifle. Elan realized it might be very prudent to shut up and let the man do whatever he wanted. Angry Jedi were rumored to be very, very dangerous.

"You're not clean," the Jedi said, "but you haven't been _caught_, so I'll just stay here for awhile." Almost as soon as he'd finished talking, Danva promptly tripped over a box of brightly-colored Nymerian syringes. Elan watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the man caught himself with his right hand, and then appeared to study the contents of the box. _Oh, no no no. Now I'm in trouble. _Possession of Nymerian painkillers meant an instant stay in a small, dark cell for a very long time.

_They're not mine_, Elan tried to say as the Jedi leaned closer to inspect them. "I'm, uh, holding them," he sputtered out. "No, really! I am!"

Danva snorted at the box, and then maneuvered slowly toward the den. "Might want to move those," he called over his shoulder. "Fire hazard."

Elan locked the door and followed Danva into the main room, his eyes fixed on the man's awkward stride. He'd never seen a Jedi _trip _before. "Uh, Joclad, you're a rip of fun and all, but I'm not in the market for a roommate--"

Danva looked around the room. "Remote."

Elan blinked. "You came here to watch the holo? I don't know, it might be under the couch…" He trailed off as Danva slowly knelt in front of the holovid and switched it on. A few channel-changes later, brilliant orange-red filled the screen. Elan slid one of his outer membranes down over his eyes to shield them from the bright colors, and tilted his head to study the image of the burning building.

"Hey, pretty good effects. Is that why you came here? Temple won't give you good channels?" Elan plunked the nerf sticks down and dug through his pockets for a towel to wipe his hands with. That was the problem with nerf sticks; they left their beautiful ooze everywhere. "Buzzy, you should've asked. I could hook you up."

Danva gingerly crossed the room and touched the window control panel. The dimmer beeped slightly, unused to actually being _utilized_, and the transparisteel that separated his apartment from the rest of Coruscant gradually cleared.

Danva gestured out the window, where a smudge of orange-black blotted out the horizon. "It's not a holo."

His voice sounded worn, and the way he said the words was different – harder-edged, maybe. When had the Jedi gone and changed his accent?

Towel forgotten, Elan turned his attention back to the holovid. Flames leaped far into the atmosphere, clogging the skylanes with smoke. _Wait… isn't that the Jedi Temple? _Elan stared at the holovid for about five seconds, and then slowly looked over at Danva.

The Jedi's tunic sported darkened patches that Elan suspected were bloodstains, and a particularly nasty-looking tear in the fabric ran diagonally from shoulder to hip. Danva certainly wasn't _walking _right, and if the way he was cradling his left hand was any indication…

Elan swallowed hard. Maybe it would be best not to mention the Jedi's general appearance… no, that wouldn't do. But he had to say _something; _injured people didn't just wander in and out of his apartment on a daily basis."Uh… bad fight, buzzy?"

Danva slowly looked at him, and there was something terribly dark in his eyes that Elan, despite all his run-ins with the man, had never seen. "You could say that."

Elan studied the black stains around the Jedi's boots and trousers. _That's gotta be soot… He's been in a fire… the Jedi Temple's on fire… I always thought he was a little crazy…. _"So... Joclad, buzzy, didya... you know... set the fire?"

He was slammed against the wall so quickly his antenna bounced off it, and Danva's hand was tight around his throat. Damn, for an injured man he moved fast"You think me capable of such a thing, little Balosar?"

Elan tried to answer, but the fingers around his neck squeezed off his response. "I killed _many_ people on this night, Elan," the Jedi informed him. "I don't know how many I killed, or how long they took to die, or how much they suffered." His voice grew louder and louder, until it reverberated throughout the room and likely spilled up into the neighboring flats. "I did _terrible, awful _things tonight - but do you _really _think me _capable _of _that!" _

Onearm jerked outward, pointing to the mess onscreen.

Elan struggled frantically in the man's iron grip, eyes bugging out. _Air! Air! Air! _The fingers around his neck tightened, and the gold flecks dancing in front of his vision made Danva's eyes look like they were blazing with unnatural light. Elan pried at the fingers, and rasped out, "I think--you are--right--now you are!"

The words did something. Danva looked puzzled for an instant, but then he released Elan and spun away, muttering something incoherent.

Elan slid down the wall, gasping, as the Jedi dropped into a chair and put his head in his hands. Danva sat that way for several minutes, his shoulders shaking. That was fine with Elan; getting the life nearly choked out of him didn't rank highly on his list of fun activities. He watched Danva until the shaking stopped, and then stood back up.

Elan kept his distance, not entirely certain that the danger was over. Danva had accompanied Dack Meridian to bust Elan plenty of times -- generally to look menacing and put the fear of the Force into anyone he came across -- but he'd never shown up like _this. _Nor had he ever given Elan a good throttling. _He's threatened to, though_, Elan reminded himself. _Several times. Maybe he's just acting out his fantasy. _

"So…" The Balosar tried to clear his throat, and winced. A look in the mirror would probably reveal the outline of Danva's fingers. "Nice grip you got there."

Danva stared bleakly at the wall. "I feel empty inside."

Elan wasn't entirely sure how he ought to respond to that. He spied the nerf sticks still sitting on the table, and snatched the bucket up. _Food, food's always good. _He held them out. "Maybe you're just hungry?"

Danva shook his head.

"You gonna choke me whenever I get you mad?" Elan mentally ran through the drugs he readily had access to, and wondered how big a dose he'd need of each to keep a Jedi Knight from going berserk on him. "'Cause if you are, buzzy, I got some treats that'll take that edge _right _off--"

"The clones have turned against the Jedi," Danva said quietly. "They've destroyed most of the temple."

The Balosar tilted his head to the side and quickly debated just what the Jedi had done to the clones to get their home so thoroughly ransacked. The dejected look on Danva's face suggested that he wouldn't be particularly receptive to that sort of question, so Elan took the safer route. "That's… too bad?"

"I just need a place to stay until I can get offworld. You're in bad with the authorities anyway, so I figure your lot can't get much worse."

Elan blinked. "Buzzy, I'm not feeling the love. No nerf sticks for you."

"I'm a Jedi. I have no love."

Elan opted not to pursue the bitter tone of that statement. It was probably best to let the man do as he pleased; Danva certainly didn't look like he intended to move anytime soon. "Well, there's a mattress in the--"

Danva waved his good hand. "I'll stay out here. Just go about your life."

Elan thought that might be quite impossible with a renegade Jedi Knight taking up half his living room. "I, uh, have a _friend _coming over later--"

"A dealer?"

He nodded fearfully.

Danva reached for something at his hip. Fully-expecting to be cut into tiny pieces, Elan jumped backward and cowered against the wall. Instead, Danva tossed a credit chip at him and produced the ghost of a smile. "Get me some deathsticks. I need 'em."

Elan's antennae twitched. Well, this was certainly a welcome change from the _give me all your drugs or I'll run you through _routine that Danva usually pulled. He pocketed the credit chip, and half-turned to go place a call to Busby.

But then he took another look at the Jedi, who remained half-sprawled in the chair, dazedly staring at the holovid with the same glazed expression that Elan had once seen on speeder-wreck victims in the medical ward. _He's going to die on my furniture if I just leave him there_, he realized, and took a step closer. "You need a bacta tank, too."

Danva shut his eyes. "Do you happen to have one?"

Elan snorted. "Think I'd be living in this pit if I could sell a bacta tank's services?"

"Do you know people we could blackmail or terrify into producing one?" Danva still had his eyes closed.

"No…"

"Then, Sleazebaggano, I'm rather stuck, aren't I?" The Jedi opened his eyes and looked tiredly at Elan, who noted the sudden fever-sparkle in them. _Damn, damn, damn. _He could give Danva deathsticks and make him relatively happy, but the Jedi might head into permanent orbit due to one wound or another before the night was through.

Elan sighed. "Danva, buzz, I gotta do something you're not gonna like."

Danva eyed him, but said nothing. Elan rustled around in a drawer before coming up with a mostly-empty medkit. "Now, I can't have you dropping dead in my apartment… I don't know what I'd do with the body…."

Danva scoffed. "Don't worry, Balosar. I'm not going to die."

Elan choked back a snort. "You reached out with your Force lately, buzz? You're in bad shape."

Danva looked at himself, and then back at Elan. "I've had worse."

_Sure you have, buzzy, and I'm the Queen of Alderaan. _"Yeah? When?" Elan pulled a bandage and half a container of clear bacta gel out of the kit, and twirled his antennae in thought. These would have to do. "I know some of you Jedi can heal yourselves or something like that, but you haven't done it yet." He looked pointedly at Danva's apparently useless left hand, and crept a little closer. "That. Blaster?"

"Yes. I wasn't paying attention," Danva said. The ghost of a pleased smile crept over his face, but it was quickly replaced by a more sinister expression. "The other guy looks worse."

Elan reached for the hand, but Danva snatched it away. The Balosar fixed him with his best surgeon's glare, which was hard to do without the medical droids or his operating uniform. "Buzz, I really don't want you _dying _here. You got any idea how much _trouble _you'll be? My incinerator—well, it hasn't worked right since the Mandalorian Incident, but you would _kill _it. And burning flesh, buzz, it stinks."

The Jedi flinched, and his left fingers flexed slightly. "I think there's nerve damage… it hurts, but I can't really control it…."

"Well, let me fix it. Or try to. Can't hurt, right? Besides, you're bleeding all over my chair." _You are so not dying in my apartment, Danva. _The look on the Knight's face suggested he was wavering, and Elan went in for the kill. "You really wanna tell your buddies in your afterlife that you went to a drug dealer? What're they gonna say on your stone, buzz? 'Here lies Joclad Danva, Jedi Knight. He went to Elan Sleazebaggano's place to die.'"

"And then Elan got his head detached from his shoulders for giving the Jedi Knight shelter," Danva said, sounding rather whimsical. "Not a bad idea, Sleazebaggano. We can have a party in the afterlife."

The idea of spending his entire afterlife with Knight Danva gave Elan the chills. "I don't want to party with you. You take all my drugs." Privately, Elan had always wondered what Danva and Meridian _did _with the goodies they swiped; were Jedi permitted to claim them as spoils of war? He resolved to ask that very question once Danva was sufficiently deathed out.

Now, however, he had a wounded beast to attend to. Elan picked up Danva's hand and felt around for the damage in the nanosecond before the Jedi shoved him away. "Joclad, I am _not _gonna have a dead Force-user haunting my apartment!"

"Gods, when I'm a dead Force-user I hope I'll have _better _things to do than haunt _your _apartment," Danva snapped. "Now give me that gel, or I'll run you through."

Elan happily relinquished the medical items, and Danva rustled through his belt for a moment before procuring what looked like a very tiny version of a professional hospitaller's kit. Elan, pleased that he wouldn't have to explain a dead Jedi to his landlord, focused on the holovid screen as Danva patched his wounds.

The tabloids were going to have a field day with this – well, _all _the news segments would. Elan suspected some of his friends were plotting parties even as they watched the fires rage; the Jedi had long been a source of headaches for Coruscant's once-thriving drug trade. Effective policing of the undercity had stopped following the outbreak of the war, but no one ever really forgave the high-and-mighty Jedi Council for spoiling the planet's fun.

Elan's glanced over at Danva, and his antennae nearly fell off his head when the Jedi tugged off his tunics. Beneath the stained and soaked brown fabric, his torso was covered in an interlocking series of blaster burns, bruises, old scars, and what looked like—

Danva caught him staring. "What?"

Elan pointed at the rip across his chest. "Is that—"

"From a lightsaber? Yes." He slathered a goodly amount of the gel on the slice, which followed the length of the cut Elan had seen on the tunic. "I got lucky."

Elan stared at the cauterized flesh and shuddered. "You got a funny definition of _lucky_."

"It could've been worse."

The man had a point. Lightsabers tended to rip through bodies rather easily; Elan had seen a few of their victims in the surgical ward before dropping out of school, and most of the poor souls had been missing entire limbs -- or been in very small pieces. In light of that, Danva was lucky indeed. "You jumped out of the way or something?"

Danva grunted. Elan occupied himself by studying some of the older scarring, his nerf sticks long-forgotten. He found something new to fixate on, and pointed at a patch of discolored skin. "That big thing on your side. Can't be a blaster hit."

"Super Battle Droid," the Jedi said.

Elan whistled. He'd seen pictures of those monsters in the news. "How'd you live?"

Danva hesitated and looked down at the old hurt. "I just did."

Elan's comlink chimed three times, signaling Busby's arrival. He gave the Jedi a wary look. "You still want those deathsticks?"

"_Yes_," the Jedi said. "Many."

"You're not going to stab me in the ear if they don't work right?"

"Elan—"

"Or cut off my arm and beat me with it if you don't like the flavor?"

"I'm not going to stab you in the ear," Danva said. "And I'm not going to beat you with your own severed limbs, and I won't dangle you upside-down from your balcony… for long."

"Hah! I don't _have _a balcony!"

Danva didn't really smile, but the frown lines around his face eased slightly. "Damn. That would have been fun."

"Yeah, well, there's plenty of other ways to kill me…." Elan cleared his throat nervously. "I mean, buzzy…." he eyed the Jedi's rather powerful build with a good measure of respect, "you could crush my _head _with your bicep."

Danva nodded solemnly. "And if I get mad again, I'll do it."

Elan gulped.

"Which is why you want to get me deathsticks…" Danva paused, "…and one of those Nymerians. Just in case."

"Yes. I want to get you deathsticks. And a Nymerian." Oh, Shawklit Dunne was going to _kill _Elan when he found out one of the precious syringes was gone… but Shawklit Dunne didn't have a lightsaber.

Danva pointed at the door. "Right now."

Elan pocketed his keycard. "Right now."

He'd barely made it out the door before he realized Danva hadn't even bothered mind-tricking him.


	12. Six Degrees of Elan Sleazebaggano

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own anything. If I did, I would not behunting wildly for a job right now.

**Jedi of Gondor -**I can't decide who got the crappier end of the bargain- Joclad or Elan. ;) Thanks for reading!

_-------------------------------_

_11. Six Degrees of Elan Sleazebaggano_

By the time the sun rose over Coruscant, Dack Meridian's knee felt as though he'd cut it open rather than sealed it up. Maybe the antibiotics had gone bad.

"Military transport C-127, identify yourself."

Dack rolled his eyes and reached for the transmitter, flicking it on with his thumb. "This is transport _Ceveena_," he said, reading the nameplate above the bridge door. Describing his recent experience to Port Authority was not something Dack planned on doing at the moment, so he simply omitted all clues of his mission from his report. "Incoming for parts and supplies."

"You are cleared to land, _Ceveena_."

"Thanks." It never hurt to be courteous these days. Dack switched off the communications equipment and stared uncomfortably at the glittering city planet as it grew larger in the bridge windows.

The transport had dropped gracefully out of hyperspace some eight hours after the harrowing escape from Rhen Var, and during that time Dack hadn't managed to come up with any decent explanation as to what had happened. He wanted to go the easy route and simply accuse the clones of mass treason, likely brought on by some malfunction in their programming. Clones were _made, _after all. Maybe the Kamonians had dumped something foul into his batch.

Now, as he innocuously locked on to the Jedi Temple's steady signal, he wondered how he was supposed to explain this to Kit -- hell, how was he supposed to explain it to _anyone? _The Council would probably blame it on him. _Fed them poorly, you did, _Master Yoda might say. Never mind that there hadn't been anything else to _feed _the blasted men.

_On the bright side, _Dack thought as he cued up an incoming message from the temple, _at least I'm off Rhen Var. _

The incoming blurb from the temple instantly lifted his spirits. _The Republic is victorious_, the automated message announced. _All Jedi, return home. _

He almost replied to the message. His fingers hovered over the keys, the promise of a live connection and someone who could tell him what had happened a mere keystroke away. But something stopped him. After all, it wouldn't be proper to report things from the skies. That was entirely too formal, and Dack Meridian was anything but formal.

_I'll go down there in person, _he thought. _Much easier than explaining it from space. _Of course, staying in orbit gave him the option of running like hell if the Council reacted badly to his news, but showing up generally meant you felt bad about the problem and were willing to work with someone in order to fix it.

He locked the ship's sensors onto the Jedi Temple and quietly set a course. _Might as well get this over with_. Eight hours of hyperspace had left him plenty of time to meditate on what had just happened, and his conclusions...

He had no conclusions. Maybe someone smarter would.

The temple continued broadcasting its standard all-return, but try as he might, Dack couldn't work up the sense of elation he knew he ought to be feeling. He leaned forward over the bridge console, fingers scrabbling against unfamiliar buttons. Maybe he could contact Kit _personally _and figure out what to tell the rest of the Council. _Master-padawan privilege, _he reasoned. _Kit can't order me killed. I'm like his non-tentacled child. _

"…our top story of the hour is the Jedi Temple, which is _still _smoldering…"

Dack jerked back from the standard audio transceiver as though it had electrocuted him. He had no idea how to switch to a visual setting on this high-tech bucket of bolts, so instead he sat as still as a Senior Councilor. The words trickled steadily out of the overhead speakers: the temple was still on fire, had _been _on fire for hours – all night!

_And no one knows why…. _

He picked up his comlink, and then discarded it. _No. _If someone had done something to the temple – the _temple _– home was on _fire… _there was no telling whether they'd managed to tap the transmission lines.

Dack abruptly settled the ship into high orbit, initiating a standard military transponder alert that might buy him the ten minutes he needed to trance down and find someone through the Force. It was the only non-traceable method of communication that he possessed.

_Master Fisto? Are you out there? _He didn't know if his signal went out to anyone, or if it simply bounced around in his mind. _Kit… where are you? _

No answer came, even when he tried treading along the fractured lines of their training bond. If Kit was on Coruscant, he was unreachable.

_Rickon? _Nothing from Rickon, either. Then again, the little snoot never liked Dack very much as it was. He probably wouldn't respond just out of spite.

Dack went through the line of planetary Jedi strong enough to pick up on his weak messaging, and the unfamiliar sense of panic continued to grow as attempt after attempt fell flat. No one heard. No one answered.

The Force -- what he knew of it -- had always acted as a blanket, protecting him and soothing him in times of strife. In Kit Fisto's opinion, it was equal parts the Force and the Jedi spread throughout the cosmos, each vaguely aware of the other and stretching across the galaxy, touching those Force-sensitive and not. Even with his admittedly poor perception, Dack could usually feel _someone_.

But right then, as he sat on the bridge of his stolen transport, he felt completely, utterly alone.

_Joclad? Cin? Anyone? _His mental screech bounced off the walls, soaring all over this quadrant of Coruscant and possibly awakening moderately sensitive individuals from their rest. _Oh, Force, Joclad was on his way to Rhen Var!_ _Is anyone out there? Please!_

_Meridian?_

A commanding female voice echoed through his mind. Dack sat bolt upright in his chair, clenching the armrests as something cool and sensitive probed at his psyche. "Who are you? What's happening? How are you in my head?"

_First of all, stop broadcasting before you drag the Dark Lord of the Sith down on top of us_, she admonished. _You must remember me. Swyfte's old friend. _

He finally found the visual feed, and the transport's tiny screen flickered to life. Smoke. Flames. Everything the audio report said – and the terrible emptiness that Dack felt--

_This can't be happening, this can't be happening!_

_Meridian! Shape up. _

He squeezed his hands into fists. Swyfte had a bunch of old friends, as much as he recalled. Only one of them, though, had Force ability… "The freeloader?"

_Is that what she's calling me? Come to these coordinates... _There. Burned into his mind with a thought. If there truly were such a powerful individual on Coruscant, even _he _ought to be able to sense her.

"Can I trust you?"

_Your home is burning and your brothers are dying. Who can you trust?_

The link emptied, and Dack realized he was already typing in the commands, bypassing basic securities and gaining landing access. Swyfte's crazy Teräs Käsi friend -- if it was indeed she -- had sent him more than just coordinates.

She'd sent him an entire landing cycle.

----------------------------------------

Devona was suspended upside-down from one of the shielding panels when the military starship settled on the pad next to her. She swung up instantly, clutching her firma-span in one hand and mentally calculating how long it would take to race into the _Wanderer_ and fire up if the visitors weren't friendly. _Probably longer than I have to live, but oh, well. They can't say I didn't try. _

The ramp lowered, and someone hobbled down it. Someone clad in dirty fatigues. Someone with shaggy brown hair. Someone with a blaster rifle.

Someone with a lightsaber dangling from his belt.

The firma-span slipped through her fingers and clattered noisily to the dock. "_Dack!"_

Dackdropped the blaster rifle he was toting and hobbled down the remainder of the ramp. Devona leaped off the side of the ship and dove into his arms, clutching at him hard enough to make him wheeze. "Dack, you're alive, you're _alive_!"

"Guh--Dev--_air!_"

She released him instantly. "You're hurt -- what happened -- the temple is on fire, they've been--" She took in his appearance: oversized flak jacket atop a blue and gray uniform generally reserved for Republic non-clone captains, both in bad shape. His eyes -- one blue, one green -- regarded her with a wariness she'd never seen from him.

Devona did not fancy herself a precog of any sort, but even she sensed that something terrible had happened. Suddenly, the fire at the temple seemed all the worse. And if Dack had made it back from wherever he'd gone, there was no saying _who _was following him

She snatched his arm and started hauling him to the _Wanderer_. "You can't be seen, they might shoot you. There was a thing at the temple – you've probably seen it—"

He managed to summon the rifle to his hand before she fully dragged him aboard, and he held onto it as she sat him down in the main room. He smiled vaguely at her as he stretched his injured leg out in front of him, and Devona found herself completely at a loss as to what to do next. Offer him food? Water? Ramble on about the meaning of the Force? Maybe she ought to find him a painkiller for that leg.

All that came out was, "Can I get you anything?"

Dack tipped his head back and continued to stare at her, his normally bright gaze dim and uncertain. "My clones attacked me. They _attacked _me!" He abruptly hurled the rifle against the bulkhead, balling his hands into fists. Devona jumped back as the gun clattered to the deck.

His stare darkened at her reaction. "They weren't even _my _clones!"

Comforting words wouldn't do much right now, and besides, what could she say? _Sorry, Dack, you're in quite a fix _just seemed cold. "No one seems to know what's going on. The Chancellor has called an emergency meeting of the Senate, but--"

Dack didn't seem to hear her. "No one's answering me. My friends, my master, everyone. They're gone. I can feel _you _in the Force, and I know that someone powerful is still on Coruscant, but I can't...I can't feel them...I can't feel Master Fisto...or anyone...no one's answering me..."

His fists pressed against his temples, and Devona perched haphazardly on the seat beside him. She touched his shoulder, afraid to do much more. Angry men in general were not her forte, and disturbed Jedi were even further out of her league. What in the name of Kriken was she supposed to tell him?

"You're safe here," she said, and wished she knew if it were a lie. "Arden and I won't let them get to you, and..." She looked at his rifle on the deck, and a thought occurred to her. "Do you even know how to fire one of those things?"

Dack gave the gun a dour stare. "I killed a few clones with it. Pretty efficient weapon, actually."

_Hah! The Jedi realizes the obvious! _She reached out to push an errant lock of brown hair behind his ear, meaning to say something amusing -- _anything -- _but instead noticed at a blinking green light on the outside of his wrist guard. She pointed at it, and Dack brought it before his eyes in mild surprise. "That's my dealer."

She blinked. "You have a _dealer?_"

"Well, he's not _mine_," he said, obviously quite willing to toss himself into something besides confusion. "I'm sort of his baby-sitter. Joclad and I picked this kid up a lot before the war started." He flicked open a panel in the guard and punched in some numbers. "I was assigned to him permanently after Geonosis, because my patches wouldn't hold up to offworld traveling for awhile. This is supposed to go off whenever he's got stuff in his system, but I suspect he found a way around it..." As he spoke, the tiny image of a Balosar fizzled to life atop the armor. His antennae twitched nervously as he peered into a camera.

"Meridian?"

"Elan," Dack said guardedly. "Have you been bad?"

The sound of his voice seemed to set the alien at ease, and Devona realized the Balosar likely couldn't see who he was addressing. "Meridian! You gotta get him out of here, he's gonna eat all my food."

"What? Who?" Dack barely looked up as Arden silently entered the chamber, and the smug look on Arden's face told Devona everything she needed to know about just how Dack had gotten here in the first place.

"Danva, buzzy. He's got the munchies, and he's just this bottomless--"

It took a split second for the name to sink in, but Dack was on his feet - well, one foot, anyway - before Devona could get out of the way. "_Joclad_?" he demanded, sending Devona an apologetic look as she crashed to the grated deck. Arden had the nerve to snicker.

"_--pit_--" Elan continued plaintively.

"Stay where you are. Keep him there. Just don't _move_."

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_"You gave him deathsticks?" _Dack's yell carried down the corridor, though no one in the shabby apartment building seemed to care.

The Balosar, whom Dack had hurriedly identified to Devona as Elan Sleazebaggano, looked like he was used to such outbursts. "He asked for them."

"But you _gave him deathsticks_?"

Elan nodded, and then backed away as Dack advanced on him. "Buzzy, you're limping, shouldn't be limping on a knee like that -- hey, now, he has a lightsaber, I wasn't about to--" He retreated all the way into his apartment, antennae starting to quake nervously. "Uh, there's no need for this, he _asked _for them--"

"_You gave him deathsticks!" _Dack had apparently lost capability for other words. After the maddening rush from the ship to this crusty building, Devona was surprised the man was still able to sound menacing at all.

"Let it go, Dack." Devona smiled at the Balosar and pointedly ignored the unbelievable rate at which his antenna twitched. She tugged on Dack's arm, trying to keep him from going for the lightsaber. "Hi, we're here to see Joclad."

Dack lifted a finger and jammed it directly into Elan's face. "Do you realize -- you've -- you've gotten a _Jedi Knight _hooked on _deathsticks_? Are you out of your fracking--"

"Oh, c'mon, wouldn't be the first time," Elan said. "What, you really think he's all that clean? He's had those things before, buzzy, and mark my words—"

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!"

Dack yelped as a tall man nearly swept him off his feet. Devona vaguely recognized the imposing being known as Joclad Danva, but the bright grin on his face dispelled any notion of sanity the great teräs käsi fighter might normally possess. "Dack, I am _so glad _you're _alive. _It's _so _good to _see _you! Hey, did you bring food?"

Elan sighed in relief, pressing his hands to his chest. "Please say you brought food, he's eaten most of mine."

Dack wheezed audibly from the embrace. "Joclad, my ribcage wasn't rebuilt to take this kind of pressure."

Joclad dropped him immediately and clapped both hands on Dack's shoulders, smiling vapidly. "Did you _see _the mess at the temple? I was _there! _I think I'm going to go to the Dark Side now. _So _much better than watching everyone die."

Devona regarded the grinning fiend uneasily. "Is this what deathsticks do to you?"

"Everything's happy when you're high on them," Dack growled, leaning around Joclad to glare at Elan. "Which is why they do so well in these depressing times. I guess I know why he didn't answer me in orbit, though. When did you cut yourself off, Joclad?"

"After I sliced up a lot of people," Joclad said cheerfully. "It's much better not feeling things!"

"Cut himself…?" Devona asked. The man's tunic was a sliced-up mess, but he looked like he had all his limbs intact.

Dack appeared to reach for calm. "Joclad has a nifty little trick that he used in his tournaments. He can cut himself off from the Force. Makes him hard to find."

Joclad winked at Devona. "It's how I stayed alive."

Dack tried to punch his arm, but only succeeded in wrenching one shoulder free. "I thought you were _dead, _you blasted idiot!"

Joclad just kept smiling. "Sorry about that."

"And now you're hanging out with everyone's favorite slimeball." Dack sighed. "Wonderful."

"Hey, I haven't been picked up since you left, Merry!" Elan folded his arms tightly across his chest. Joclad let go of Dack with one hand and draped his arm around Elan's shoulders, and the indignant expression on the Balosar's face quickly turned to horror.

"Sleazebaggano saved me," Joclad said. "With his antennae. See how they twitch?"

"You can let go of me now, buzzy," Elan said.

"And he found _you_, so he can't all be bad!" Joclad leaned forward, dragging Elan with him. "I think the Force is still looking out for us!"

Dack took the opportunity to cover his eyes with the palm of his hand. "And he gave you _drugs_."

Elan bristled. "I only had the _top-notch _stuff, buzzy, best you can get, we _all _gotta make a living—"

"What _are _deathsticks?" Devona interrupted. Maybe everyone just needed to burn off some of their hysterics before proceeding in an orderly fashion. "They don't sound pleasant."

"Deathsticks: Quick, painless, and a boost of joy that will leave you breathless. Shortens your lifespan, too," Arden said, stepping into the doorway and crowding the tiny entry hall further. "Most of Sleazebaggano's customers probably won't be around much longer."

"Life? Who needs long life? Everyone's dead!" Joclad peered at Arden, and in doing so released the Balosar. "Hey, I know you. Where'd you run off to last night?"

Devona whirled on Arden. "You went to the _temple_?"

Her traveling companion looked vaguely amused by the entire thing. "I was curious."

"You went there? What happened to not getting involved?"

"Oh, isn't this a nice little change." Apparently quite unconcerned with the fact that she might have just started an inter-Order war, Arden leaned forward. "I thought you'd be glad. You were _so_ perturbed by the attack on the _philosophers_ of the Force—"

"Philosophers?" Elan Sleazebaggano smirked at the statement. "That'll be the day."

"I philosophize," Joclad proclaimed, dropping a hand to his belt and scrabbling with something. "I philosophize… with lightsabers!"

A glowing green blade was out and spinning around before anyone could so much as shriek _don't give a lightsaber to a man on deathsticks. _Elan yelped and dove for cover, and Devona backed up several paces as Dack moved to intercept.

He and Joclad grappled for several seconds, but in the end, deathsticks were mercifully not conductive to successful displays of 'saber-prowess. Dack extracted the hilt from his friend's hand and kept it firmly out of his reach. "Bad idea. Very bad."

Joclad's expression loomed dangerously close to a pout. He grabbed Dack by the shoulders with his right hand and awkwardly jammed his left into the man's face. "You ruin all my fun."

"He's handy with a plasma beam," Arden said breezily. She barely gave Dack a second glance as the Corellian sent her a curious look. "I thought he might be useful one day, if he lived."

"You--?" At Arden's nod, Devona buried her face in her hands. "Oh, not good. _Not good_."

If the Sith came running after the Teräs Käsi next, Arden Lyn could find herself a new pilot. Epic Force-battles stretched the limits of what Devona was willing to tolerate.

"What's not good?" Joclad asked brightly. "Dack, you really should try those things… they're so… _delectable._"

Dack turned his head to Elan. "He said delectable. Get the detox. _Now_."

Elan nodded, and scampered away down the hall. Dack tried to wriggle around Joclad, but the taller knight had no intention of letting him do so, skittering from one foot to the next and blocking the Corellian's exit. Dack smiled faintly. "Well, now we know what you look like when you're deathed out. Remind me never to let you have those again."

"I don't want detox, it'll make me sad again." Joclad shook his head violently enough to whip Dack in the face with strands of long black hair. "Cin died when I got there. That little dungspitter Skywalker turned on us--"

"Dungspitter?" Devona repeated. "What's a dungspitter?"

Dack stopped his struggling, and his face paled drastically. "_Skywalker_?"

"Yah, he's gone to the Dark Side! He's a kriffin' Sith Lord!" Joclad seemed to find the entire thing hilarious. Devona stared pleadingly at Arden: _make it stop. He's scaring me. _No one should be laughing about that kind of thing, not even a Jedi on deathsticks.

Arden nodded slightly. "Potent stuff," she murmured. "And Skywalker was the great Jedi hero. What a shame."

Joclad bobbed his head, finally letting go of Dack. Devona reached out to steady the newly released man as he stumbled backward, and was nearly dragged down for her troubles. "Yah, yah, you know it, huh? I liked the kid. Kind of a risk-taker. Came in and all those clones were just wiping the rest of us out, you know? No one expected it!" He gestured grandly, and succeeded in knocking Devona aside. "Sorry 'bout that," he said as she picked herself up off the floor. "So he's just there and he was _wiping _them out too, he killed Serra and he killed Master Drallig, he killed the man, it was _awful..." _

Elan reappeared and held out a little dispenser. "Detox. Best on the market. Hospitals can't do better."

Joclad smiled benevolently at him. "If you touch me, I'm going to rip out your windpipe."

The Balosar gulped, but kept holding it out to Dack. "Don't let him ruin it, that stuff's _expensive_…."

"Can we get on with this?" Arden asked. "Dose him and be done with it. Palpatine is set to make a speech about this whole mess in a few minutes."

"Holovid's that way," Elan said, pointing down the hall. He eyed Arden. "Can I interest you in a refreshment?"

"No," she said, pushing past him. "Get on with it, Meridian."

Dack called the detox to his hand and appeared to gather his nerves. Devona edged toward the door, ready to make a break for it if necessary. From what she remembered of the various rumors floating around about Knight Danva, the man had a bit of a _reputation_, so to speak.

Joclad regarded Dack distrustfully. "If you're my friend, you won't do it to me."

The Corellian pointed at the knight and said, with as much authority as Devona had ever heard from him, "You. Here. Detox. Now."

"But it makes my nightmares go away," Joclad said in a small voice. With his loose black hair and his pleading eyes, he suddenly looked much younger than Devona knew he must be. She wondered how often he had to play the hurting stray card to get out of trouble.

Dack looked at Devona hopefully, and she gaped at him. "What? _I'm _not going to hold him down." When Dack's expression started to mirror Joclad's in term of pathetic hope, she flung up her hands. "Be reasonable, he's twice my size!"

Joclad shook his head again. "No. I don't want to go there. If I go there they'll all be dead and she'll be gone and Geonosis is _always there—" _He backed up against the wall as Dack approached him, "--and I can't get away, and I'm finally _happy _now, Dack, don't do it to me, please don't make me—_they got Depa--_"

Dack slapped the dispenser against Joclad's neck. "Sorry, Jedi. That's not real happiness you're feeling, anyway."

Joclad stopped speaking instantly as the haze in his eyes started to dissipate. Devona watched him come back to himself, and the bright light of chemically induced well-being faded. Broad shoulders slumped, and his head lowered. She swore she saw dark circles appear under his eyes.

"Damn you, Meridian," Joclad muttered.

"Sorry," Dack said, shoving past him and into the main room. "But if I'm trapped in my right mind, you sure as hell are gonna be too."


	13. Revelation

_Disclaimer: _If I owned any of this, I wouldn't be looking for a job in the terrifying post-college world.

**Wellingtonboots: **Thanks! Here's not one,but TWO chapters! Poor Joclad really can't win. :)

_A/N: _Parts of Palpatine's speech adapted from one of the SW Insiders - presumably written by George Lucas. Oh, if only we'd heard the entire thing… I interspersed bits and pieces of my own continuation of the speech, but most of it's his work.

A/N2: I didn't read the RotS novel, though I flipped through it and I think Palpatine had the audio recording altered… I figured visual might sway the Senate more, though, so I used that.

---------------------------

_12. Revelation _

"Good morning," Palpatine croaked from beneath a black cowl, and on the holovid, the senators murmured amongst themselves – and with good reason. His voice sounded like he'd doused his esophagus with hot shielding fluid and then neglected to get proper medical treatment. Devona knew work-droids with more appealing vocal capabilities. "Citizens of the civilized galaxy, on this day we mark a transition."

_He's going to explain what happened to the Jedi Temple. And he'd better explain what happened to him, too... _"What's wrong with his _voice_?" Devona asked, tuning out the man's opening remarks. Politicians really needed to stop blathering on about the strength of the galaxy and get to the point.

Elan cocked his head to the side. "Could be Corellian throat flu. That stuff can be virulent."

"_Sssh_," Arden said. She sounded as though she were watching a spectacular holoflick and didn't want to miss a second.

"...In doing so, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within."

Devona blinked. This wasn't what she'd expected at all.

The Senate made some unhappy noises. Palpatine appeared to gather his thoughts. "The Jedi, and some within our own Senate, had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy's leader." Palpatine paused for effect, and Devona scratched at her arm.

"I don't get it," Elan Sleazebaggano said. "The Jedi…made the Separatists?"

Devona blinked again. "That's some pretty powerful Force-stuff right there." Privately, she wondered if Dack and Joclad's combined powers could conjure her up a new hyperdrive converter. If Jedi could make entire systems of dissenters, then a piece of machinery ought to be a snap.

Joclad sucked in a breath. "Wait," he said. "Wait. _Dooku_—they can't be thinking about _Dooku_…?"

Palpatine, seeing that he had the full attention of his audience, continued. "They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever."

"_Hatred_?" Joclad demanded, just as Dack asked, "Are they talking about _us_?"

"Be _quiet_," Arden said. Both the Jedi shut their mouths, though something that looked very much like anger was starting to form on Joclad's face. Dack just looked stunned.

"At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures…"

The image of the Chancellor and the Senate was replaced by a view of a well-appointed office, one that Devona vaguely placed as being Palpatine's. She recognized the dark-skinned Master Mace Windu coming into the picture with three other Jedi clustered behind him. "Kit," Da Dack murmured as he identified at least one of Jedi. Devona chanced a glance at the Corellian and found him staring wide-eyed at the screen, one hand half-shielding his eyes as though he didn't really want to look. By the time she looked back to the 'vid, lightsabers had been ignited, and the image blipped slightly as though it encountered interference.

The image shut off. "The Jedi were able to disable the recorders, clearly to cover up their crime," Palpatine said hoarsely. "I have discovered...that they meant to take control of the Senate -- and through it, the galaxy! The Jedi hoped to unleash their destructive power against the Republic by assassinating the head of government and usurping control of the clone army."

Devona looked at Dack and Joclad. _Galactic conquerors? Really? _She'd met Dack's former master, a cheerful Nautolan, only once, but Kit had never struck her as the sort to wantonly attack the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. Then again, midichlorians possibly made people do crazy things. Joclad…well, she didn't know much about Joclad Danva, save the fact that he liked breaking rules and heads.

"The Jedi were massing in the temple to attack this very building! Their power went unchecked for too long!" He leaned over his podium, staring intently at the now-silent Senate. "_Hundreds _of Jedi, ready and willing to act upon their dark thoughts!"

"Padawans and younglings," Joclad growled, "_padawans _and _younglings_...none of them stood a chance..."

Devona looked sideways at Arden, who gazed at the screen with that fixed look she got when contemplating issues of great galactic importance. Her expression did not change as Palpatine presented his evidence -- some of it damning -- and drew forth even more support.

Devona realized she ought to be grateful: she was witnessing history first-hand.

It was not a history she had ever cared to see.

They showed a hologram of the events in the Chancellor's chamber again. Dack wanted to hurl the remote right through the screen, or at the very least chuck the entire 'vid out the window. _They're lying_, he wanted to tell Devona's inquisitive stare. _Kit wouldn't do that! Kit couldn't! No one wanted to rule the galaxy! It's too much work!_

But the words froze in his throat.

_Master Windu...Master Tinn...Kit…_

Apparently Kit Fisto was no match for the Chancellor's security team, whatever it was comprised of. None of them were; Palpatine's continued existence proved that.

_He's probably dead…they all must be. _If Joclad's story about the temple was not a drug-induced hallucination… .

But Master Fisto, involved in a plot for galactic domination? Kit would never do that. Kit didn't even like ordering his padawans around. _Dack, please watch the tentacles_. _Dack, be careful, you might slip. It'll be all right, Dack, we all have our setbacks. _

No. Who knew what the blazes was going on in Master Windu's mind – but _Kit Fisto _would never… _never_….

Dack watched Kit's expression carefully, focusing on the still-determined glint in his former master's huge dark eyes. Kit had sat at his bedside in the days following Geonosis, bringing his young padawan Rickon to explain some of the intricacies of Force-healing. Dack was quite familiar with that glint; he'd gotten a good dose of it in the minutes before his surgery, when Kit quite firmly said that Dack must _not _become one with the Force just yet.

Master Fisto, with his wry sense of humor and love of all things aquatic -- gone?

All of them just _gone_?

Something small and warm slipped into his hand. He looked away from the screen long enough to find that Dev had sneaked up beside him. She gave him a little smile, and squeezed his fingers. _I don't believe them_, her presence said. _I don't believe them at all._

He squeezed back. _Good old Devi. _

Palpatine was not finished. "The rest of the Jedi will be hunted down and defeated!"

The Senate went ballistic. Well, that was a nice dose of political loyalty. "_Defeated" probably means "killed."_ _Wait, that means me. _

His knee, never given a chance to heal, chose that moment to give out. He sat down hard on the floor, still gazing at the screen with glassy eyes. Devona and Elan were on him instantly, the former shaking his shoulder while the latter rolled up his trouser leg and mumbled something about disinfectant.

_Outlaws. Menaces to society._ Dack just shook his head. How could it happen? _Why? _

"...any collaborators will suffer the same fate..."

The odd little spark that was Elan's aura dimmed slightly. Dack switched his stare to the Balosar. "Gonna turn us in, Elan?"

Devona froze. Joclad looked over from the 'vid, his gaze unfathomable. "Don't give him any ideas."

Elan didn't quite look at him for several agonizing seconds. He didn't strike Dack as the sort to go running to whoever was in charge anyway, but maybe…. "C'mon, Elan…." He thought about applying a little bit of persuasion, just enough to deter the dealer from running to the comlink if that was what he'd intended to do. "Not after all our fun together."

The Balosar studied Dack's knee, and then looked at Devona. Dack probed him cautiously with the Force, and to his great surprise, he found no inherent treachery -- just surprise, confusion, and maybe a little fear. Elan rubbed at his neck, and for the first time, Dack noticed faint imprints of fingers against his skin.

_Joclad_, he thought. _He's always threatened to do that…_

Elan shook his head. "Buzz-girl, get me the blue package under the sink. Hurry up, he's been running around on a blasted leg."

Somewhat chagrined, Dack left Elan's mind alone.

"This is an outrage!" At last, a dissenting voice boomed across the Senate chambers, interrupting the screeching cheers of a thousand worlds. Dack looked away from the fumbling Balosar and squinted at the screen as Garm Bel Iblis slammed his hand down against his pod. "You _cannot _simply order the extermination of an Order that has protected us for thousands of years! You _cannot_—"

"They were plotting a galactic takeover, Senator Bel Iblis. Or should I have waited 'til they landed on your homeworld?"

"Be careful, Garm," Dack muttered, even as he admired the man's loyalty. Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia had grown increasingly critical of the Jedi involvement in the Clone War -- and indeed, of the conflict itself -- but he would not leave them to die without some sort of dissent, would he? Surely other senators would rise to his call…

"You should have asked the leave of the _Galactic Senate _before signing the execution warrants of six thousand!" Bel Iblis gestured wildly to the other pods. "Who is with me? Who will stand for the Jedi?"

Dack held his breath. There was a meager response from the crowd, enough to suggest that not _all _of the Senate thirsted for his blood….

But most of them did, and the Corellian senator was shouted down.

Garm Bel Iblis looked around with his mouth slightly agape, but otherwise said no more.

Palpatine waited a long moment before responding. "Senator Bel Iblis, I believe you are in the minority."

-------------------------------

_This is all my fault, _Joclad decided. Then, _no, no it's not. I didn't bring this on. I'm not a Sith Lord._

It would be easier for a Sith to exist, now that the Jedi were gone. _A shame Dooku didn't hang around longer, he'd be so damned pleased with the situation…_

He looked down at his hands, because that was easier than watching Palpatine issue his death warrant. _Everyone thinks I'm dead anyway, or should… _hell, even members of the _Jedi Order _thought he'd died on Geonosis! Joclad, amused when someone stopped in their tracks and gaped at him, had never bothered correcting the death notice. There was just something so satisfying about watching the color drain from the face of one of the higher-ranking Knights or Masters.

He tried flexing the fingers of his left hand and was pleased when they moved at his command. He wouldn't gain full mobility for awhile – and Elan had made it quite clear that Joclad had been _patched up _rather than _fully healed_ – but he was damned pleased to see the digits functioning as they ought.

Even that didn't do much for his mood. _If I'd been better… if I'd been faster… if I hadn't… _he looked back up at Palpatine on the holovid and scowled. The Jedi Council had always fawned over Palpatine and his devotion to the Order…though during the last few weeks, his insistence that Skywalker be placed within the circle of masters had started some odd rumors circulating.

_Skywalker got to be best friends with the Chancellor, and he nearly made Master…he's younger than I am… I'll never be a Master, now…am I even a Knight anymore? After what I did? _

Not that Joclad had ever particularly lusted after a seat on the Council. He thought of himself as a man of action rather than deliberation, and he'd listened to enough of Depa's stories to know that the Council Tower wasn't for him. Still, it was the principle of the thing. Skywalker joined the Council and became a Sith Lord. _I bet I wouldn't have done that. _

He looked at Dack and wondered if the Corellian sensed any lingering darkness around him. Dack just looked supremely depressed, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Joclad clasped his hand into a fist. _Well, it's not like there's anyone left to demote me anyway, if what Palpy says is true. _

"The rest of the Jedi will be hunted down and defeated…." Palpatine went on long after that proclamation, and Joclad's fingernails dug into the skin of his palm. _And you were one of our greatest supporters, you stupid old fool. You turned on us awfully quickly, didn't you?_

The vaguest beginnings of a thought crept into his mind, but he banished it quickly. _No. That can't be. He's just a politician enjoying the moment…_

Palpatine spoke strongly against the Order, and the thrum of approval from the Senate increased with virtually every sentence. Joclad felt his disgust turning into something else, something familiar, and yet – what _was _it? He nearly felt ill as he watched so many cheer over the deaths of people he'd known, as Palpatine said that Cin's death, Serra's death, that such things were _necessary… _were _good_….

_And Depa is gone, I'm sure he thinks that's good as well…. _Joclad ground his teeth. He could see Palpatine viewing Cin as a troublemaker, but _Depa… _Depa was _good_….

He realized what he felt.

_I hate him. I hate all of them. _

Jedi felt no hate. Jedi felt nothing. Jedi banished emotion and all the complexities and problems that came with it.

_But we didn't _all _do that. I didn't…. _No. He'd tried to adhere to the Code – when it suited him, more often than not – but he'd hated the clones, hadn't he? He'd hated Darth Anakin. But had he always _hated?_

There were other emotions, once. He remembered happiness and humor and the gruff affection of his master—_my father—_and Depa, _what about Depa_….

But all that was gone, taken from him before he had so much as an instant to say goodbye.

_You took them from me_, he thought at the feeble-looking Chancellor in his pod. _You took them from me, I know you did…you wouldn't be so happy about this otherwise…you took my life, my friends, everyone I loved…_

And he _had _loved them: loved _people _as Master Windu loved the Republic, as Jocasta Nu loved her Archives. Joclad had liked the Republic in general, and possessed a healthy respect for its occupants and its goals. He upheld its laws as any good Jedi ought, but as he watched everything he ever knew crumble to ash, he realized that he, Joclad Danva, had _not _been as good a Jedi as he should have been.

_Because I loved. And love is forbidden. _The love of a Jedi for the Republic might be excused as duty or even perfection, but for a Jedi to love those he thought of as a _family_, for those that he so desperately missed….

Palpatine didn't look particularly sturdy. Joclad could probably snap him like a twig if he were so inclined. He smiled at the thought. _I could get you with my bare hands, old man…you don't know who I am, what I can do…_

He wanted to run out of the room; if he didn't see what was happening, maybe it wouldn't _happen. _He laughed at himself even then, chalked the thought up to the remnants of the deathsticks coursing through his system and poisoning what remained of his rationalizing capabilities. _I went to Elan and deathed out. I'm no better than Skywalker. I should have killed him… he was so strong. Stronger than me. Never thought I'd see that day. Luckier than me, maybe, but…._

He looked back down at his hands. _Maybe to fully turn, you can't do it for something good. I wanted to save Depa and that was good. And he still beat me. _

Yes, that must have been it.

_He was the Chosen One_, his better side murmured. _His power is far beyond anything you could even have—_

_I should have stopped him_, Joclad thought, shutting his eyes against the pain in his hand and the words from the Chancellor. _I should have done everything I could. I would have. I should have stopped him…_

_But I didn't. _

_I _didn't.

----------------------------------

_The rest of the Jedi will be hunted down and defeated! _Arden wondered how long _that_ would take. She had two Jedi sitting right in front of her, and if someone as hapless as Meridian had gotten away with his life, then certainly others did as well. Whether or not the rest would be smart enough to lie low for awhile remained to be seen. Jedi tended to have a nasty habit of leaping into righteous battle at the wrong times.

_Or maybe all the time, _she thought, glancing at Danva. _Who takes on a Sith Lord, anyway? …besides me. _

The galaxy screamed for their deaths. Palpatine had them wrapped around his pinky, and they gobbled up his words like hungry children in the Kessel mines. He spoke of his disfigurement, his resolve, his willingness to keep peace and stability.

After the Corellian senator had spoken, there was no visible dissent. That troubled her even more than the declaration itself. Fine, he could wipe out the Order if he liked, but there must have been _someone _who didn't agree with the man.

The camera did not zoom in extraordinarily deeply on Palpatine's face, but a hint of gold peeked out from beneath his robe. Arden felt her lip curling upward into a smirk. _A pack of Jedi accosting a politician? And the crowds believe it. Has their image really become so distorted? _Cavorting around the galaxy had revealed that the Jedi were not in the public's good graces these days, but Arden was hard-pressed to think of a single group that hated the Order outright.

But then again, her recent travels had rarely crossed with those who encountered Jedi. Perhaps she should have been more perceptive.

"We stand on the threshold of a new beginning," the Chancellor promised. _Hmm. _The man did know how to deliver a damn fine speech. She had to give him that.

He gave the Senate exactly what it wanted: a scapegoat. The Jedi Order. _Brilliant, if they hate the Jedi so much… Privos must be laughing hysterically right now. _Dooku as well.

_Ah, wait, they offed Dooku awhile ago, didn't they? _Still, the point remained.

Arden turned her head slightly to the side, eyeing Joclad Danva. He'd cleaned himself up some since she'd last seen him and cut himself off from the Force, to boot. _Probably a good thing; he's got a strong presence otherwise. _

Though nowhere near strong enough to take on a Sith… but then again, Jedi these days were slow learners.

And there it was. Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi Order's mighty Chosen One, had only turned recently. He'd been in the public eye far too long to have trained under Dooku, and even if he had, who could have trained _Dooku_?

Another flash of gold from under the cowl. "The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger."

_The Sith are master planners_. She mouthed the words, and took a closer look at Palpatine as he promised order and a mighty starfleet. _Oh, he's good. He's very, very good…_

"He's out of his mind," Dack murmured.

Arden folded her arms, watching the screen intently. "I imagine that's your Sith Lord."

"That wrinkled old thing? Really?"

She nodded. "Looks are deceiving, Meridian. I've seen a few Sith Lords in my day...some were pretty, some were…well, not." Her mind was already working through the situation, identifying questions that needed immediate answers. How long had the man plotted this? How old was he truly?

How had the Teräs Käsi Order missed it so completely?

How had _she _missed it? _That _aspect bothered her most of all. _I must be getting complacent in my old age. _

_We're not fools. We were never fools. But now...fools have been made of us. _He'd slipped right through their defenses, setting up shop directly atop the Republic. _Damn it. He's _really _good. _

She had no time to sympathize with the Jedi, whose lives had abruptly and irrevocably changed. Hell, in Arden's opinion, the Order had required some sort of deep-cleaning centuries prior, and this latest purge was nothing more than a long-needed culling. But at the moment she only had eyes for the croaking mass of wrinkles atop his throne as he called out for support and reassured those who dared to speak out.

Elan the dealer still hunched over the fallen Dack Meridian, his wide eyes half-covered by some sort of inner membrane. His antennae shivered, and Arden Lyn caught hold of his line of thought: how many deathsticks two Jedi would bring in. She snatched the thought in midair and shattered it, replacing the void with the vague fear that Palpatine might well crack down on the drug trade.

The Balosar trembled, and Arden returned her attention to the Chancellor. The Sith. _Oh, this is priceless. Absolutely priceless. _

_He hid from the Jedi all these years. He hid from the Teräs Käsi, from the fringe groups, from everyone. So Privos was right...this runs deeper than anything we imagined. But did _he _know how deep?_

"In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society which I assure you will last for ten thousand years."

Danva grabbed the nearest object – an empty nerf stick carton – and hurled it at the 'vid. The carton bounced harmlessly off the screen, but Arden felt the continued backlash from both of the Jedi. It took her a moment to remember the ridiculous oath to uphold the Republic and all of its glory – an oath set into place millennia before, when the Republic was _worthy _of such a thing….

"By all the stars of Hapes," Devona gasped. "He can't do--"

"He just did," Arden said. She waited for someone to complain – the Corellian Senator, perhaps; they tended to argue purely for the sake of argument. It didn't matter _who_; someone _always _protested.

Palpatine went on without interruption, leaving Danva's infuriated carton-tossing as the only real acknowledgement of the Republic's death.

Arden buried her face in her hands. "You _idiots_!"

Danva chose that moment to re-open his interest in her. "Not that I don't agree, but who _are _you?"

She gave him a cool look. "You can call me Arden Lyn, if you like." No use in secrecy, not in these times. The Jedi may have taken the first hit, but she had a lingering feeling that soon every Force-user in the galaxy would be a target.

His brow furrowed, and Arden felt a twinge of pleasure. Clearly he recognized the name from _somewhere_; it was just a matter of remembering. _Good to know I haven't faded into legend entirely. _

Elan Sleazebaggano twitched an antenna in the direction of the 'vid, but otherwise concentrated on Meridian's knee.

The feel of the galaxy changed. The Force itself shifted, uneasy beneath the weight of the Dark Side as it unfurled its wings. Even Danva -- whose usually bright presence in the Force was dimmed to no more than a spark -- sucked in a breath, likely feeling an odd tingling down his spine as the stars realigned. Everything felt the same, yet different. Arden recalled feeling like this once before, during the Schism...

_Oh, gods. This cannot happen again._

Palpatine named squadrons. He named Senators. He made promises.

Bel Iblis finally sounded a call from his pod, still docked in its bay. "I dispute this," he said, loud enough to still a bit of squabbling from the newscasters. "I dispute it all."

The Senate jeered. Palpatine actually smiled. "I am sorry you feel that way, Senator. Perhaps, then, it's best to return home and leave the galaxy to us?"

Bel Iblis gave him a curt nod. "So be it…_Emperor_."

And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the pod, his entourage following close behind him.

"He's a dead man," Danva said, his voice a tired monotone. "Incredibly dead."

"I have to see it," Meridian said suddenly. Arden barely had time to get out of the way as the Corellian pushed Elan aside, leaning on Devona as he scrambled awkwardly to his feet. "I just saw it on the 'vid. I need to _see _it."

"Don't go out there," Arden warned. "They'll shoot on sight." _And if they find one Jedi they'll ransack the entire building… _and then where would everyone be? She'd need to find a new pilot if they killed Devona.

"Not _out _there," Dack said, "_up _there… Joclad, give me a hand."

Danva shook his head. "I'm not participating in…." But he trailed off, offering an arm as Meridian hobbled for the door. Arden sighed and snagged Sleazebaggano's elbow to tote him along, granting Meridian an entourage as he made his way out of the apartment and down the hall to the turbolift.

Arden took the long route, bolting up stairs in a flash of crimson fire. She could not quite beat the little group to the top of Sleazebaggano's crusty apartment building, but she exited the top hatch just as Meridian stumbled to the edge of the terrace and gawked at the smoke that tunneled across the sky.

-------------------------------------

_I should have tied him down or something. It's finally hitting him. _Joclad still felt a little groggy after moving around so much following a deathstick high, but his mind was clear enough to focus on deterring Dack from doing something profoundly heroic and stupid.

Besides, chasing Dack gave him something to do. And if that helped chase the dark thoughts away…

"The people," Dack muttered, "_all _of them…." His eyes lit up as an idea came to him, one that Joclad already knew he must soundly trounce. "We need to rescue them! There might still be someone there!"

_Yep. Heroic and stupid. _Joclad wanted nothing more than to give the Corellian a good thwap upside the head but found he couldn't muster the energy. "We can't go there -- _can't_, Dack. I was just there."

"But Kit…Kit and Rickon…." Dack gnawed on his lower lip. "Well, maybe we can leave Rickon…."

"I saw Rickon die." It had to be said. It _had _to. "He was with Jocasta Nu. He showed me Skywalker and died."

Dack stared at him. Years of diplomatic training had clearly never prepared him for _this. _

_We're on the same starship, old friend. _Joclad hesitated, and then reached down, pulling Cin's lightsaber off his belt. He knew Cin's signature was still evident across it, and touching the thing even without the Force made his skin crawl with memories. But he clenched his fingers around the damned device and held it out.

Dack stared at the 'saber as Joclad pressed it into his hand, and yanked away when his fingers brushed the metal. "No," he said, "No, no…."

"He's dead, Dack. They're all dead." He'd practiced the words in his head over and over again, even as he swapped dirty jokes with Elan and let the Nymerian drugs drown his pain away. "Everyone we knew. Everything."

Dack stared at him blankly. "But the beacon…they're telling us to go home…what if there _are _some, hiding? We can still help them! You've got a lightsaber, I've got one, and Dev's got a ship…."

"My ship—" Swyfte started to say, but she quickly stopped talking.

_Damned optimist. _"Home is lost." Joclad said the words so evenly that one might think it did not wreck him to say such a thing. "It's all a trap. If we go there, they'll kill us."

"But we're Jedi…" One look at Dack's face suggested he didn't entirely believe his own argument. "We're supposed to…_help _people…."

Joclad held back a laugh. _You've got a bad leg and they tore me to pieces… we wouldn't be much help to anyone still alive, anyway. _"I was in the temple," he said quietly, looking away from the smoldering ruins of his home and down at his left hand. Elan's repairs were temporary at best, and the appendage needed more than the Balosar's limited medical supplies could offer.

The rest of him…. _Gods, I think I'm ruined. _There were some things even the greatest Jedi Healers could not fix. They hadn't been able to touch the nightmares he still had about Geonosis, and if they couldn't handle _that_, how could any of them hope to cure Joclad of Skywalker? Of Cin? Of Depa? _I _am _ruined. _"We can't go back there, Dack. Look what it did to me."

Dack narrowed his eyes. "You're…." The roar of a shuttle overhead drowned out the remainder of his words, and Joclad glanced up. Arden Lyn took the opportunity to approach with measured steps. "Come inside, both of you," she said. "Getting yourselves killed while gawking is hardly a befitting way for a Jedi to go out."

Joclad wheeled around. "_Give him _a _minute_!"

Lyn sighed. "These things happen. The Force shifts and adjusts."

"The _Force_—" He could scarcely believe she was rationalizing it.

"_It happens_," Arden repeated loudly. Her tone booked no argument.

Joclad just stared at her, willing himself not to ignite a lightsaber and drive it right through her throat. _Anger will only get you in trouble here. _Yet he could not let her comment go without redress. "They're not going after _your _Order. Your people aren't being picked to pieces, killed just for--"

She held up a hand, and his voice simply stopped working. He grabbed at his throat, but found he could breathe just fine – it was as if—

_She's muting me! _

"Watch yourself, Jedi," Lyn murmured, "I am not an enemy you want right now."

Dack cleared his throat. "I'll be all right," he said, everything about his aura suggesting a desire to avoid conflict. "I just… needed to adjust, that's all…."

Joclad looked from Dack to Lyn. _Half the galaxy wants me dead, the rest will back them on it… I can't bring myself to care anymore. _He feigned clearing his throat, just to make sure his voice was back, and then sent this _Arden Lyn _as cool a stare as he could manage. "What's another enemy?"

Danva left them standing up there, though Arden tracked his return to Sleazebaggano's apartment with consummate ease. Meridian looked ready to follow, and Arden held up a hand. "He's just shutting off the holovid. Leave him."

"But--"

"If this is what he needs to hold onto his sanity, then give it to him. We were not present at the temple – well, _you _weren't – you don't know what went on there. Elan, stop staring at the fire."

"Yes, ma'am… Master Lyn," he said with fear-influenced obedience as he hurried over to join their little circle. "What do you want me to do?"

"_You_ are going to help Devona put her ship back together. Meridian, I want you to dredge up whatever memories or information you have _on you _as to what Jedi are where. Do not tap into any sources."

They all nodded. Arden ushered them inside, trusting Swyfte to keep Elan in line and hoping Danva would not fly off the handle anytime soon. Only Meridian lingered, his datapad dangling from his fingers. "Master Lyn?"

"Yes?"

"Is this what the -- what the prophecy meant?" He swallowed hard, obviously uncertain about bringing it up at all. "I mean -- is this it? Is this the balance of the Force?"

"I hope not," she said. "For your sake."


	14. Down Among the Dead Men

_Disclaimer: Nothing is owned or anything fun like that. _

This site eats my formatting. Grrrr.

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_13. Down Among the Dead Men_

The new converter didn't fit.

Devona turned it over in her hands, searching for a seam or a crack or anything else that would allow her to shatter it against a wall. She'd spent five hundred credits she didn't really have on the thing, all because the blasted Corellian warranty didn't cover Coruscant airspace. Mother of suns, she was going to kill someone.

Maybe she could ask Arden for money…the woman always seemed to have some….

She caught her finger against the edge of it, and promptly stuck the wounded digit in her mouth. _Why do the Jedi get to sit around and watch the holovid while _I _have to fix the ship? Aren't Jedi supposed to be mechanically inclined? Stupid Force-users… _

"Devi-buzz, the computer says the shield generator is drawing power from the auxiliary engines."

Devona turned her head slowly, and fixed Elan Sleazbaggano with a speculative stare that clearly made him uncomfortable. The smarmy-looking little dealer had proved oddly adept at repairing things when given directions, and the thought occurred to her that he might actually be useful. "Elan, how much do you make with your selling?"

"Enough," he said evasively.

She set the converter down and approached him slowly, hands outstretched. "Elan, darling, could you possibly do me a favor?"

"It always starts that way, you know. You want a favor. Then you want deathsticks. Then you tie me to my bed and have your filthy way with me and steal my pharmacy." Elan folded his arms and stared at her accusingly. "Right?"

Devona paused, not entirely sure how to respond to that. "Well, it's like--"

A proximity alert went off on the bridge, and Devona didn't try finishing her bargain. Instead, she checked the blaster at her hip and scurried for the hatchway, thumbing the outdoor security feed. Almost immediately, the image of a Republic Investigation Craft blew to life on the screen, along with an incoming message from said vessel. Dev shut her eyes and cursed. "Elan."

"Yeah?"

"Find someone with a Corellian V-7 converter. I don't care how much it is; just find one close by. Datapad's on the table. _Go_."

Elan disappeared into the common room, and Devona made sure she looked appropriately mussed (and therefore harmless) before keying the 'vid acceptor. An elderly Rodian in a gray Republic uniform smiled at her -- or at least made the best approximation that his species could muster. "Hello, _Wanderer. _Sorry to intrude, but we've received a rather irate call from the owner of this dock--"

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. _Sithspit! They're on to us! Think, Devi, think. I know! Act! You always liked acting! _She smiled into the screen, and spat out the first thing that came to mind: "My ship's broken!" _Well… that was stupid of you._ "I've been trying to fix it, but my co-pilot is slow in getting the parts. How can I help you?"

The Rodian looked unperturbed by her babbling. "The owner of the dock says the military transport next to yours is not cleared to remain here--"

"There's a _military transport_ out there?" Devona blinked. "Could've fooled me."

"It is registered to a potential deserter from the 98th Attack Group on Rhen Var -- a Jedi Knight." The Rodian stared at her, and she realized how very similar his antennae were to Elan's. "No doubt you have heard the news."

"_Rhen Var_?" Dev heard a clattering from the kitchen and muted complaints as Elan tripped over something. "I don't know anyone from Rhen Var, sir, but you can do what you want with it. I'd rather not have guns pointed at me -- " _Stupid, you just ignored the entire Jedi bit. Well, maybe he won't notice. _

The Rodian sounded distinctly displeased. "This fugitive is very dangerous. He may be hiding in your cargo hold. He is gifted in deception, sabotage, and has killed several of his own troops. He is armed and dangerous."

_Deception? Sabotage? A killer? _Dack Meridian -- gentle, fun-loving Dack Meridian -- the great Jedi actor, the man who firmly believed the galaxy was his stage – silly Dack, a wanted _killer_? Even Palpatine's sweeping remarks had not quite allowed her to view Knight Meridian in such a light. Joclad Danva, fine; the man had a sharp edge to him. But _Dack?_

_Think, Devona! Buy him some time! _

"I don't think he's in my cargo hold," she said. "But, uh, here..." She unlocked the hatch – _what else can I do_? -- and called over her shoulder: "Elan, darling, throw some clothes on, we might have a fugitive in the cargo hold." _Please don't be getting high in the galley. _

The Rodian came aboard with disturbing alacrity, still puckering his mouthpiece in that frightening imitation of a grin. Devona smiled back brightly, resting her left hand on her hip and activating the comlink she'd jammed into her belt earlier that morning. "Welcome, sir. The cargo hatch is right there -- it's a little messy, I'm afraid--"

He disappeared down the steps without waiting for her to finish. Devona waited a second for him to find the lights, and then keyed the door shut behind him. _That should hold him… until he starts screaming for help. _

Elan chose that moment to emerge from the galley with his head wrapped in a towel. "Honeyoat, what about a fugitive?"

Dev stared at him before running another scan on the perimeter. "I've got him locked in the cargo hold. Tell him you're trying to fix it. I have to get a line to Arden, and you better have found a conver--"

"Burnada Stolento has one," he said. "It's at the Refinery, but it'll--"

"Get ready to get it." She took the comlink with her to the bridge, shouting over her shoulder, "And _put your clothes back on_!"

He hustled back into the kitchen -- and hopefully his clothing. She looked down at the comlink, and heard the faint breathing of Arden on the other end. Good: the woman had heard some of it. Devona brought it up to her lips, leaning out the hatch and paling at what she saw. _This… was a really bad idea. _

"Better get the boys out of there," she said quietly into the comlink as she studied the clone troopers milling around the ships. "I think we need to get moving."

----------------------------------------------

_What are you doing? _

_Be careful, Master! _

_Clones have turned..._

_I repeat, assistance, I need assistance, help!_

_You can't--_

_I don't know..._

_But why?_

_How..._

_Why--_

_Why--_

_Why?_

The voices built up, swelled through her mind and nearly blew out her ability to think before she finally crawled out of the dark tunnel into which she'd fallen. Distant memory of blaster fire and spinning, whirling -- pain in her shoulder and upper back as sensation returned...

_My head… really kriffin' hurts… _

Water had seeped into her boots. That was supposed to be impossible.

Stass Allie gradually realized that her toes were cold, and, shortly thereafter, noticed that something heavy had collapsed on top of her. _The bike! _Vague memories of an attack lit into her mind, and she immediately Force-shoved the machinery away. The remains of the bike spun wildly several centimeters above her before landing with a heavy splash a few meters away from her feet. With the weight lifted, Stass lay quietly for several seconds, trying to reconstruct the sequence of events that had led to her predicament.

The murky, half-bad air of Saleucami stuck to her lungs, and she pushed herself up onto her elbow. Nothing appeared broken; the Force had cushioned whatever sort of fall she had taken. Somehow she'd managed to harness her capabilities with the power enough to keep her alive through what was starting to look like a very nasty crash. _Well… that's something, at least, isn't it?_

Her eyes gradually focused on the still wreck of her speeder, already partially submerged in the swampy murk. Stass held out her hands, observing lacerations and a nasty burn extending from her wrist up to her elbow. A quick inspection of the speeder revealed similar burns. Her head ached badly, but she supposed that just went with the territory of a crash – and the war itself.

She knew the look of this sort of discharge. The clones used the same sort...her own bike used the same...

Her clones! Bender and Slash - what happened to them? _There must have been an ambush. Why didn't I sense it?_

She reached down to her belt but knew her comlink was useless the instant her fingers touched it. Lying on her right side in the swamp had all but fried its circuits, and she dropped the device into the water. Her lightsaber, cushioned against her hip and the dry cloth of her tunic, appeared intact, and its bright green blade at once reassured and troubled her. She kept it on as she surveyed the wreck site, slowly pushing herself to her feet. Aside from the requisite bruises and scrapes, Stass decided she was in fairly good shape.

Something moved in the trees. Her head swam as she turned too quickly, and she added _concussion _to the list of injuries. Reaching up to probe for bruises, her fingertips brushed against the soiled and waterlogged white tentacles of her Tholoth headdress. _Damn. _She pulled it off, and cold water trickled down her neck as it escaped from her hair.

She held the headdress out and regarded it mournfully. _It's done. _Stass had made repairs to the thing following Geonosis and her campaign on Corellia, but there was little left for her to work with. She ran her fingers over one tentacle, and it nearly fell apart even with just that gentle pressure. A sigh escaped her chapped lips: _there's just nothing left to fix... _She held the ruined headdress for several seconds, wondering just how wrong it would be to cart the thing back to the temple with her. _It is part of my memories... _

_You're attached to a headdress. Bad Jedi. _

Stass quickly dropped the thing and tried to ignore the prickle of guilt she felt as the burned and torn white tentacles vanished into the murky water. The headdress was nothing more than a material object... a material object easily replaced, once she returned home.

Still, the headdress had been across the galaxy with her. _I shouldn't have to leave it on Saleucami. It deserved better. _There; she could be a bit bitter over its sad demise. The fate of the headdress was a sorry one indeed.

She moved uneasily through the swamp, stretching her senses as far as her aching head would allow. Something else bothered her: a sort of dull, insistent throb that pulsed at her undermind itself. Stass tried inspecting it, but each time she probed into its cause she received only a peculiar blackness that threatened to squeeze at her psyche.

She pressed on through the swamp, following the trail the Force laid out for her. She hadn't gotten far from the base when -- _whatever _it was -- had occurred, and retracing her steps was fairly easy. She found no sign of Bender and Slash -- or any other troops, for that matter. Certainly if there had been an ambush, the others would be on their way to back her up.

Or dead. The lack of bodies sent off a warning bell, and Stass edged along cautiously.

She felt no trace of the CIS snipers, and the fact that no one had shot off her head yet struck her as a good thing.

Lively buzzing in the Force indicated the base just around one of the great tu-hikka trees, the current bane of the sensor operator's existence. She laid a hand on the tree and felt its great strength pulsing through her palm, lending its power to her aching body. She drew only slightly on its offering, just enough to skitter up its smooth, sloped trunk and peer through the opening in the branches.

The base -- what remained of it -- appeared to be in the final stages of disassembly. Thousands of clone troops went about their business with typical efficiency, loading things onto various transports.

_They're leaving without me, _she noted. _Almost like I'm dead... _

Maybe there'd been a nasty explosion when her bike went down. Bender and Slash might have simply _assumed..._

Still, one would expect a little bit of muted concern over the loss of a commanding officer. The clones went about their lives, seemingly not missing their general at all. _Well,_ Stass thought, _if I'd known I was going to be so disposable, I'd have jumped ship a long time ago. They run just fine without me. _

Two of them approached the tree, rifles held at ready as they completed a patrol. It wasn't Bender and Slash; she vaguely identified the signature of B422, but the other clone was a mystery. Stass kept herself hidden, reaching out with the Force to better hear their conversation:

"She was kind to us."

"She was a traitor. They all were."

_She? There aren't a lot of women in the camp... _The words did not entirely register. Were there traitors underfoot? Treachery was not something the clones were bred for, though Stass supposed, if left to their own devices, even the best Kamino-breds might eventually go to unsavory places. Human nature allowed little else.

"And what are we supposed to do now?" one asked.

She leaned out of the tree, trusting that the foliage would conceal her presence.

"We will follow the Emperor's orders," the other said.

_Emperor? _If the clones hadn't been completely deadpan, Stass might have thought it were some sort of inside joke. Gods knew the soldiers had enough of them.

_Then what…? _She took a deep breath, and reached slowly outward through the void. If the clones did not provide an explanation, then Stass would find one herself.

_I must not go back there. _The answer was as clear to her as the casual way the clones discussed treachery. She didn't fully understand it; she didn't _have _to fully understand it. Her logical mind told her to walk right up to the clones and demand answers. But her instincts said _no. _

The Force did not reveal the extent of the galaxy's turmoil to her. It didn't need to; Stass Allie felt it as she crept down from the tree and backtracked to her trashed speeder. Design flaws aside, the Aratech bikes were damned hard to completely destroy. She might be able to jury-rig a ride to the nearest starport _not _inhabited by clones.

Something terrible had clearly happened.

But what?

As she passed a particular part of the swamp, she extended her hand. The headdress burst out of the mucky surface and slapped against her palm, trailing brackish liquid. Stass closed her hand around the tentacles and asked herself what the hell she thought she was doing.

The headdress was ruined; she had no hope of fixing it. So why bother?

_Everything else is suddenly different_, she snapped at her inner critic. _Let me keep this. _

Stass glanced back over her shoulder once, and then trudged on.

-----------------------------------

Far beneath the shattered rooms of the Jedi Temple, a series of long-empty holding cells were visited by two Sith Lords. Master and apprentice strolled languidly past open doors, paying no notice to the Force-blockers deactivated long ago. Nothing lived in this forgotten sector of the building, and it was for that precise reason that they came here; if nothing lived, then nothing could watch them.

"I don't see how two Jedi could have come here without us _sensing _them," the younger man said.

"They cloaked. Clearly, they were powerful. They are of no consequence, however." The older man, buried underneath a cowl, lifted his gnarled hands. "I have a new task for you, my apprentice."

Darth Vader canted his head slightly. "Yes, my master?"

"A number of Jedi escaped the initial brunt of Order 66. I have already received reports of squadrons losing track of them in battles, or even releasing them when mind-tricked." Palpatine's expression deepened into a frown. "It seems _some _of your former brethren are more inclined to… _survival_ than others."

Vader considered this. He had expected a goodly number of the Jedi to escape, at least initially; some of them were clever, almost cunning, and if they gained the upper hand with their clones, it would be fairly easy to escape...and, if they were intelligent, vanish into exile. A single knight, limited in his options, might not cause much trouble in the long run. But if these survivors were permitted to join forces…. "They must be stopped."

"Yes." Palpatine lifted a gnarled finger and inclined it toward Vader. "You will seek them out. You may find it somewhat more…challenging…than your work in the temple."

The man who had once been the Chosen One let his mind drift to the future, and through tendrils of fog he watched his own shadow duel with a thousand specks of light. _Fight them on a hundred different worlds, _a dark voice whispered. _Decorate the stars with their blood, and then you will have your power…. _"I look forward to it," he said.

They paused in front of a particular cell. The door was closed, though Vader felt faint pulses of madness tinging the air around him. The Jedi Temple, like all bastions of power, maintained a specified prison block for its deadliest offenders. This row had not been used for hundreds of years, and yet….

There was a life force not three meters away.

"There's someone in there?" How odd it felt, expressing surprise. "I was to kill anyone I came across..." Clearly he'd failed in that respect, if someone had lived to be thrown into the cell.

Palpatine appeared not to care. "The enemies of the Jedi Order may be made use of, Lord Vader."

"The Jedi proclaim to have no enemies."

"Do they? And just how do they explain their hatred of the Sith?" Palpatine cackled, and from the depths of his cowl his eyes gleamed. "The Jedi have spouted off their nonsense about peace and compassion for millennia, my apprentice, but they have never put it into firm practice."

Vader would allow the layers of corruption, but the explanation did not assuage his curiosity as to the occupant of the cell. He sent out a single questioning blip through the Force, passing through the durasteel and exploring the cell on his own. Through the pitch black of its interior, he honed in on a single, slightly familiar spark.

_It can't be... _He pulled back. Palpatine smiled knowingly.

Vader regarded the cell. He knew the presence in there, though not well. The events of the previous night played slowly through his sharpened mind. "Master."

"Yes, Lord Vader?"

"What _of_ the ones from the temple? Vastor and -- "

Palpatine chuckled thinly. "Your perception grows. Leave them to me."

_But what use could they possibly be? _Vader pressed his living hand against the durasteel, honing in on a patch where another, smaller hand had briefly clutched for purchase. He heard the screams as clearly as if he had been standing right there when they brought her in, saw her wretched struggles go in vain.

Her hand reached the walls once. The clones pulled her free easily.

It was not the first set of clones to work with her; he saw the Force-blocker glinting from her neck as easily as a piece of jewelry. _They put that on after, _he learned, _after...after she killed the first set...the first ones that came for her... _

Vader withdrew his mind. "Why the screaming?"

Palpatine shrugged. "Perhaps she felt them dying. Or perhaps she was afraid."

On some locked-away level, Anakin Skywalker threatened to surface. _Sympathy_, the emotion was called. _Compassion. _She had never been unkind to him. Quite the contrary; her tolerance of his Council-jarring activities was something of a local legend in the temple. "She likely had no part in the uprising," Vader said, cautiously aware that such a thing as mercy would not earn him further favor from Palpatine. "She did turn, after all."

"Yes… she did."

Vader withdrew his hand from the wall and closed it into a fist, crushing away the fear and agony that the imprint had transferred to his mind. "She's very quiet now."

"For the time being." Palpatine smiled thinly. "There is no one left for her to cry out for."

Vader peered through the tiny square in the cell. He could barely see her gaunt frame huddled in a corner, but the silhouette drew a smile to his lips. _The high and mighty Master, now a prisoner of her own making… how the tables do turn. _"What will you do with her?"

"It depends on what is left to work with," the Emperor said. "I may let Vastor…_play _with her a bit, after I've evaluated him."

"As incentive?"

The other man chuckled. "You must learn to see things outside the view of the Light, Lord Vader. Incentive has nothing to do with it, though _he _may think otherwise. Vastor is a key, but I am more interested in what our little friend in there has to offer us."

"If she can even be reached."

"Oh, she can be reached." Palpatine started walking again. Vader lingered in front of the doorway, and thought he saw the cell's occupant staring back at him. "It's just a matter of bringing her around. That is how Vastor will help us."

Vader was loathe to admit he did not fully grasp the Emperor's meaning. Palpatine gave a rasping laugh, and turned around to face him. "You don't understand yet. Do you remember what you told me of the Jedi in the sparring room? The tournament fighter."

He recalled the incident all too clearly. "He was using the Dark Side to protect himself…." The idea suddenly formed, and he snatched it. "You're going to use Vastor to…?"

"To awaken her better nature? Yes." Palpatine beckoned Vader away from the cell, and master and apprentice proceeded down the corridor again. "Her mind is already broken, so she may be quite receptive. Beyond that, Vastor may not serve much use."

They reached the end of the block and moved quietly toward the turbolift. It ascended silently, moving from the depths of the temple to the topmost portions, where Vader's starfighter rested quietly on a private landing pad, untouched by the smoke and death that shrouded so much of the building. "What about the other one? The strange woman."

Palpatine gave a slow nod. "I will look into her," he said. "I have my own suspicions."

"Yes?"

"Yes." But much to Vader's irritation, Palpatine would say no more on the subject. Indeed, neither man spoke until Vader's starfighter rested on its landing struts in front of them, and the Emperor effectively dismissed his new henchman.

"Go now, Lord Vader. Hunt down the last of their foolish number… and bring greater glory to us all."


	15. In Which Our Protagonists Flee Coruscant

**_Jedi of Gondor -_** Here's one just for you. :)

Thanks for reading!

_14. In Which Our Protagonists Flee Coruscant_

(the alternate title to this chapter was "Run Away!" but…)

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_" -- watch yourselves," Cin cautioned from the doorway. "Close-quarters combat isn't a game -- "_

_Joclad paid the swordsman no heed, driving steadily at his opponent with a series of cutting moves. He felt strange dueling with just one 'saber; years of perfecting Jar'Kai left him fighting a bit awkwardly with only a single hilt. He had to consciously keep both hands around it, and his companion seemed to realize that. _

_The fact that she was attacking him so mildly was nothing less than irritating. "C'mon, Billaba, show us that Vapaad."_

_"Don't goad your opponent; it's unseemly," Cin said. _

_"Oh, please," Joclad puffed, "you goad your opponents all the time! Depa, you used to be good, what happened?"_

_She jabbed sharply at his head. "I'm warning you, Master Danva..." _

_He caught the edge of her 'saber with his, and blue slid down green as he smiled challengingly at her. "You were saying?"_

_Green light reflected in the darkness of her eyes, and her lips quirked up into a grin. Her lips moved quickly, and Joclad had to lean closer to make out her words._

"_What's that?"_

_Depa clamped her hand around his wrist, and the Force snapped a warning. "I was saying you're a fool." _

_He cursed himself for being just that as he went flying into a wall. He lay sprawled on the floor for several seconds afterward, waiting for the room to stop pinwheeling colorfully around him. "Cheater," he said._

_Depa appeared overhead, and the warmth of her smile belied the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Jedi," she corrected. _

_----------------------------------_

"Time to go!" Arden Lyn whacked Joclad Danva atop the head with a deathstick to punctuate her words and the man leaped several feet into the air before landing directly in front of her, lightsaber at the ready. He looked down at the nozzle in apparent confusion when it failed to activate, and sudden pain drifted across his features. Arden picked up slightly on his emotions: deep regret mixed in with sadness. _His master's lightsaber_, she decided, _broken in battle. _The dutiful padawanhad taken it up.

At the moment, the dutiful padawan tossed it aside and glared at her. "You shouldn't have done that. If it had worked-- "

"You think I don't know how to dodge a plasma beam? Please, Danva. I remember when those things were _invented_." She turned away as he muttered something unflattering and resumed her speedy pilfering of Sleazebaggano's belongings. "Get whatever you need to travel. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" She sensed him looking around the room and trying to collect his thoughts. "Where are we going?"

"Offworld." She picked up an unidentifiable lump of foodstuffs and chucked it into a bag. "You kept saying _come get it_. Good dreams?"

There was a pause before he answered. "Just memories."

He wasn't telling the whole story, but then, she didn't expect him to. Jedi sometimes needed a little prodding. Arden poked what looked like a furry toy before realizing it was, in fact, something that had once been alive. _Doesn't Sleazebaggano ever clean? _"Who's the girl?"

He didn't make a sound, but she suspected his back went rigid at the question. "What _girl_?"

Arden turned around. "The girl. Black hair, pretty. Got the better of you."

"She _cheated_," he said, before blinking. "How did you -- "

" No, I didn't go into your head, so stop glaring at me. You were broadcasting." She held up a box and shook it, and something inside screeched. She put the box aside. "You can cut yourself off from the Force, but you still need to put up shields. Anyway. Your dreams. Anything we can use?"

The expression on his face was one of imminent displeasure and confusion, but he still seemed able to figure out what she was driving at. "No…my foresight is…terrible, actually…why are we leaving?"

Arden poked through the shelves and decided that Sleazebaggano owned a disturbing amount of medical equipment. "It seems Meridian forgot to shut off his military transponder, and _someone _connected the ship to Rhen Var."

Danva snorted. "Sounds like him."

She pursed her lips, trying to gauge whether this sudden disloyalty to his friend sprang from the deathstick withdrawal or merely a bad mood. "Real bright young lad, isn't he? Devona is currently distracting a Republic official with her splendid acting skills so we can get aboard and get out."

"That's nice." He sounded a little dazed. "But where are we going?"

Arden swept a few cans of food into a bag. "Somewhere moderately friendlier than Coruscant."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Meridian said as he passed through. He dropped a selection of movie discs into the bag with the cans, returning her frank stare. "What? I've been on that ship. I can't watch any more of those awful trashy romances she loves. Did the dock owner perked up long enough to realize my ship didn't belong there?"

_Hmm. _So Meridian reacted to unfortunate situations by pretending nothing had happened. Arden supposed it was as reasonable a short-term tactic as any. "Actually, you forgot to turn off your transponder."

Meridian stopped in mid-stride, and a rush of color tinted his face. "I…? Oops."

"Good one," Danva said.

Meridian's jaw tightened. "I'd like to see -- "

"Don't bother. You weren't there."

Arden kept quiet, amused by the exchange. _There is no emotion, there is peace…unless you make them angry. _She went back to her packing as Meridian shuffled his feet. _How did a drug dealer get ahold of a blaster rifle? _A check of the barrel revealed why: The thing was wrecked. She tossed it aside.

Somewhere in the background, Danva started moving around slowly. "You're that teräs käsi master, aren't you?" he asked, and Arden rolled her eyes at the wall. _Damned Jedi. Always asking questions. _

She packed in any portable technology she could find. Running around with two outlaws required as much forward preparation as possible -- maybe Sleazebaggano's broken Alderaanian strength-infuser would come in handy. "Teräs Käsi. Not teräs käsi."

"But that's what I -- "

"No. Capitalize the words."

Danva's overall bewilderment with the situation presented itself in his voice. "You're a master of teräs käsi."

She sighed deeply. "I can _hear _you not capitalizing it. Teräs Käsi, an ancient Order rivaling your own. Then there's teräs käsi, a severely curtailed version of it popular on the Bloodsports Network. I understand you're quite a master of the latter, Joclad. Congratulations." Arden picked up several empty food tins, sniffed them, and tossed them aside. "Yes, I am 'that Teräs Käsi master,' and have been for longer than your family line has existed. Unfortunately, we've no time to tarry in the past right now, so please _get a move on _and pack your bags."

His reaction to that comment was not what she expected. The Jedi she'd argued with in the temple had shown signs of a willful personality, and had given the impression that doing things his way was what he did best. Now, when she looked over her shoulder at him, she saw only a lost-looking young man. _After-effects of deathsticks, _she thought. _I hope. Otherwise, he's in trouble. _

"I don't have anything to take," he said quietly. "It's all at the temple."

Meridian's signature dulled. Arden continued inspecting the various paraphernalia that comprised Sleazebaggano's belongings. She did _not _have time to play counselor to either of them, and the fact that she seemed to want to irked her. "Then you get a fresh start."

He didn't answer her, but the thought was clear enough on his mind: _I don't want a fresh start. _It was backed up by... what? Anger? Not quite -- but close enough to it. She did not look too closely; even disassociated from the Force, Danva would feel her poking around. "You must not think on what you have lost," she said, locating a box of medical supplies and tossing it in without a second thought. "There is work yet to be done."

When it was time to leave, she made the Jedi disguise themselves. Meridian accepted the idea readily enough, immediately donning the persona of a down-on-his-luck merchant. Danva, however, required near-threats to reconnect to the Force, and once he finally did, all hope of conversation flattened out. He hurried along a step behind her, lips pressed into a thin line and teeth grinding together. She suspected some of it was due to the deathsticks.

Armed speeders screamed by overhead, and every now and then a group of clones marched past on patrol. Arden had been planetside long enough to realize that such things were routine, but with two fugitives from the Empire in her wake, the basic security of Coruscant took on an ominous tilt. If either of the Jedi dropped their disguise while in the vicinity of a clone, it would all be over.

For _them_, anyway.

She had no worries that Meridian would keep it up. Danva, on the other hand...

The walk to the docks was punctuated by frequent stops in dark alleyways to let troops and security officers pass by. Arden smiled to herself as the Jedi kept reaching for cloaks they ought not wear in this situation; she'd outfitted them both with their little drug lord's roughspun overcoats. To Sleazebaggano's credit, they'd at least been tailored to his smaller specifications, necessitating that the larger Jedi make some alterations with their lightsabers. Meridian managed to work it into his persona, but Danva -- after cutting off the arms and tossing it on over his tunic -- simply looked ridiculous. With his hair pulled back into a tangled queue and his half-staggering, half-swaggering gait, he more resembled a bottom-dwelling glitterstim addict than the merchant he was supposed to be.

Arden opted not to share that with him. It was _much _more fun watching him stalk around like he owned the planet.

"I always thought big cities allowed anonymity," Meridian complained after being shoved behind a pile of cargo boxes. He brushed some unidentifiable goop off the filthy arms of his jacket. "Nobody knows you, so nobody can turn you in."

"You'd think," Arden said. "But I think it's actually the more people there are, the more _to _turn you in.' Most people are not particularly good at blending into the shadows..." She pressed herself against the wall as an off-duty speeder patrolman ambled by. "To vanish entirely takes skill."

-----------------------------

It didn't take Joclad more than a few hours to decide he didn't much care for Arden Lyn, Master of Teräs Käsi. She was flamboyant, obnoxious, and irritated the delicate hold he maintained on his calming center.

Worst of all, she was right about leaving. Wherever this _Wanderer _and Devona Swyfte planned on taking them, it needed to be as far away from the civilized seat of the galaxy as possible.

_If I changed my hair, _he wondered, _if I didn't carry the 'saber -- would the people even see me for what I am? _Citizens knew a Jedi by his lightsaber. If Joclad simply wore a disguise at all times…. _But I don't even like Coruscant, anyway! Why am I complaining?_

He tried to pull the shredded-up jacket more snugly about himself, but only succeeded in tightening the fabric around the tender wounds on his chest. Elan had never looked _this _small up close.

The _Wanderer _turned out to be a Corellian-class racer, and she looked to be in good order -- aside from the Republic Gunships currently surrounding the landing pad. _V-class. Fast, a little armor, not much in terms of shielding units…. _Gods, Devona Swyfte went around the galaxy in something that weak? Joclad squinted at the sleek little speedster, with its aerodynamic hull and lack of gun emplacements, and then looked at Arden. "Nice. We'll get blown out of the sky in five seconds."

"It's fast," she said.

"They have _guns_. Big ones," he emphasized, drawing his arms out to approximate their size. "And unless Swyfte has some serious modifications -- and on _that _kind of ship, I don't know what you could fit -- "

"Leave the guns to me." She paused, and then held out a hand. "Give me one of your lightsabers. A _working _one."

The fact that she seemed to expect him to hand one over was almost amusing. He didn't bother responding; just fixed her with his best impassive look. _Lady, you are out of your mind. _

Dack coughed politely. "Joclad?"

"Stay out of it," Joclad said.

Dack looked skyward and sighed. "Let her have the lightsaber."

"No."

"It's a good idea."

Joclad gave him a warning look. "_You _got us into this -- give her _yours_."

"You have _two_," Arden said. "Three, if you count the dead one. Now fork it over."

"No."

"I'm going to take out the guns so we can _escape_," she said meaningfully. "I need the lightsaber to keep it quiet."

"Give her the damned lightsaber," Dack said. "Unless you'd prefer she use her power and set them all off. Which she might."

"Now, if you _want _fireworks," Arden said, "I can happily oblige you…."

Joclad leveled a glare on both of them but yanked one of the hilts off his belt. He shoved it at Arden, who cheerfully slipped it up her sleeve and then tossed Dack a comlink. "Let Dev know you're on the way. When she says it's safe to go aboard, go for it."

She vanished.

Joclad spotted her landing lightly atop one of the gunships, blue plasma extending from her hand. She moved briskly, seemingly jabbing random weapon emplacements and probably doing great damage. Beside him, Dack had already picked up Swyfte over the comlink. "It's me. Is it safe?"

"The hatch is open, but we've got a Rodian locked in the hold." Swyfte's voice crackled slightly. "Elan is currently pretending to try to wrench the door open."

"We're on the loading walkway," Dack said. "Why is there a Rodian in your hold?"

"Erm…I panicked." There was a pause accompanied by muffled footsteps. A tiny figure leaned out of _Wanderer_'s hatch and stared up at them. "I see you..._what _is Joclad wearing?"

"He claims it's an effective disguise -- "

"It's not. He sticks out like a shaven Wookiee."

Joclad cringed. "You've got _her_ using that line now?"

"What can I say? It's a winner. Which leads me back to my initial question: _Why _do you have a Rodian in your hold?"

"He was asking too many questions about you," she said flatly. "Seems you're getting real popular around these parts, _Merry_."

Dack muttered a curse, and then nodded. "All right, Dev, we're coming in. Keep an eye out." He stuck the comlink on his belt and glanced at Joclad. "If we come from that corridor underneath us, we should be able to sneak -- "

"Sneak?" He scoffed. "I don't _sneak_."

With that, he hopped off the walkway and used the Force to cushion his landing five stories below. He pulled Elan's ratty overcoat closed over his clothing and did his best to stroll confidently toward the _Wanderer_, though he still had to grit his teeth in response to aching muscles. Still, for all intents and purposes, he projected the purpose of a man ready to debark on an ordinary mission. The clones barely gave him a second look.

Leaving Coruscant under duress was not something he was particularly acquainted with, but he'd made a few daring escapes in his day. _This should be easy. _

"Sir, that ship is under quarantine until our supervisor clears it."

Joclad stared at the human boy in his Republic uniform, and thought of how many ways he could break him. A blow to the head, a shattered arm...nearly anything would do. "I'm harmless," he said, moving his finger ever so slightly. It didn't even look like a gesture, but it took most of Joclad's concentration to drive the suggestion home.

"Standing orders, sir."

_All right, clearly I need to brush up on my mind-tricking. _The kid saw a poorly dressed trader skulking around. No wonder his tone was so flippant.

Joclad sighed and tried to go about things the diplomatic way for the sake of Dack and his blasted knee. "I'm just going to go aboard and see my friend," he said smoothly, nodding toward Swyfte in the hatchway. The boy turned around, and Swyfte obediently waved. "See? She knows me."

The boy – no more than eighteen, he supposed – turned back. _I was eighteen once, and young. _"Sorry, sir. With the Jedi escapees we've taken out, we can't risk it."

"Oh." Joclad nodded, and decided not to leave too much of a mess on the landing pad. Whoever ended up cleaning the place didn't need the added hassle of body parts strewn everywhere. "Of course."

He flattened the would-be officer with an old-fashioned right hook, and felt a spike of pleasure at the way the kid dropped. He stepped over the body, blissfully ignoring the shouts from the nearest gunship. _Jedi escapees_, he thought as men clattered to attention and rifles came to bear. He closed his right hand around a hilt, unwilling to risk Elan's delicate repair work on his left just yet. _Jedi escapees, that's the best you can do... _

Swyfte shouted an unnecessary warning before diving behind the bulkhead. Joclad already had his lightsaber in hand when the firing started, and he spun around, sending the bolts flying wildly in all directions.

The Force rippled, and Dack yelped as he landed heavily on the walkway behind him. Joclad whirled around in time to see Dack punch through two clones, face contorted by pain. "Great, Danva! Next time, _tell me _when you -- " He didn't get to finish his complaint as he nearly fell back under increased firepower, every clone in the regiment having noticed him.

That meant that they turned their attention away from Joclad Danva.

_Their mistake_. As his blade flashed through the gleaming white armor of a distracted clone, he realized he had no qualms about stabbing them in the back.

The sense of liberation that very feeling gave him was almost frightening in its ferocity.

Joclad sensed, rather than heard, the alarm go out from one of the ships -- _Jedi! Jedi! -- _and redoubled his efforts, moving in and out of the clones with Force-assisted speed, picking them off as Dack did his best to deflect the bolts.

_They move in rather ordinary patterns_, he decided as armored limbs scattered. He moved _between _them, his steps carrying him from one clone to the next with deadly precision. _Or maybe I've just been around them for too long..._

Soon enough, nothing moved on the landing pad. Joclad toed a severed arm, and then kicked it across the landing pad.

He felt…_good. _

Dack mentally tugged him in the direction of the _Wanderer_, and Joclad bounded up the gangway enthusiastically. The workout had chased out the last of the deathsticks, and the result was a most refreshing sensation. He grinned at Swyfte as she emerged from a corridor, awkwardly brandishing a holdout pistol. "_Hello_, m'lady. Good to see you again!"

She stared at him for a fraction of a second, and then edged away. "Where's Arden?"

"Practicing sabotage," Dack said, grasping Swyfte's upper arm and maneuvering her toward the bridge. "Thanks for the cover fire, Devi. Meant a lot to me."

"I'm sorry; I'm not in the habit of blasting the law enforcement on every planet I come to. You're lucky I found this old thing -- " She paused and tossed the blaster into a corner. Joclad wondered if she knew how to shoot the thing at all -- and if the gun even worked.

Dack leaned forward, whispering something into Swyfte's ear. She blinked, and looked at the hatchway. "Really?"

"_Do it_."

She shrugged and worked up a screech. "_Help! _I'm being kidnapped by crazed Jedi!"

"Louder," Dack said. "Pretend it's him." He pointed at Joclad.

"This is stupid," Swyfte said.

Joclad wondered if he ought to be offended by that. "Am I not sufficiently terrifying?"

Dack lowered his voice as he took Swyfte by her upper arms. "They'll kill anyone involved with us. It's for _your own good_."

Joclad opted to help, and bared his teeth at the pilot while twirling his 'saber menacingly. "We're coming to kill you, _Swyftie_."

"_Help! Crazed Jedi! Shoot them!_" Swyfte went up to a higher octave. "Before they -- before they -- do Force-ful-ish _things_!"

Dack turned around to stare at Joclad, then bent to rub at his knee. "Joclad, once Arden gets aboard, shut things up -- and stop _grinning _like that, it's creepy. Are we ready to go?"

Swyfte nodded. "Ready as we can be, but I don't know if that converter Elan dug up is going to work." Their voices faded as they reached the bridge -- _hmm, Dack's limping again --_ and Joclad extinguished his lightsaber.

He checked the outside cameras. No one had sounded the alarm on Arden Lyn yet; likely she was cloaking herself somehow. He'd have to learn that trick.

_Maybe she killed the pilots…she seems the type. _

"Buzzy, the more you scream at me, the sadder I get...no, I _am _very sensitive, yes, I'm on lots of medication..."

_Elan! _Joclad decided a little visit with the man wouldn't be out of order, and found him standing outside the cargo hatch. The dealer gave him a sour look as he banged on the hatch with a hammer, leaving a faint dent. "Sorry, buzzy, I'm _trying_, but this old ship, she's not what she used to be."

Joclad focused his attention on the cargo hold's occupant: Rodian, upper-aged, and irate. Arden Lyn had said something about trapping a Republic official in there, hadn't she? He grinned, leaning against the bulkhead and tapping gently on the hatch. "You called for a repairman?"

"Get me _out_!" the Rodian howled from the other side. "Or I'll have the ship impounded!"

Joclad pulled a hilt off his belt and rested the emitter against the faded blue paint of the hatch itself. A lightly built ship like the _Wanderer _wouldn't have thick walls; his blade would chew through the durasteel _and _the Rodian easily. "No need for threats, Officer."

The thrum of finely tuned racing engines built up under their feet, and Elan's eyes widened. "Hey -- we're not lifting _off_?"

"Nah," Joclad said. Elan looked like he believed him in the two seconds before the thrum evolved into a roar.

"Why are the engines starting?" the Rodian bellowed.

"We're trying to hotwire the system by jumpstarting it," Joclad called. "No worries." He grabbed Elan as the Balosar tried to sprint away. "And where do you think _you're_ going?"

"Gettin' off this ship, buzzy!" The deck tilted slightly, and the muted hum of the repulsors increased.

"No one is going _anywhere_," the Rodian yelled through the door, "until I am released!"

Joclad toyed with the idea of _releasing _him right into a lightsaber but squashed the thought before it could make him smile. Setting Elan aside, he migrated back to the hatchway, where he watched Arden Lyn nearly slice through the front end of a gunship using a technique he could not quite identify.

This time, her cut was not quite so precise, and red-gold sprouted upward in a narrow jet of flame. Lyn leaped off the gunship before the fire could overtake her and landed in the _Wanderer_'s main entry without even looking winded. She disengaged the blade, tossed it back at Joclad, and ceremoniously wiped her hands off on her jacket. "Gunships are taken care of," she said, thumbing the door controls and shutting the hatch. "Swyfte, get us out of here!"

"With pleasure," Swyfte called from the bridge. The _Wanderer _shivered slightly as she lifted off her landing skids, powerful racing engines engaging to shoot her out of the atmosphere. Joclad caught Elan as he made a break for the door, hanging onto the squirming Balosar one-handed. "No, no, the party's just getting started!"

"I can't stay here! I have a business! A life! Rent-controlled apartment!" Elan clawed for the hatch, though hope of escape dimmed as _Wanderer _hurtled away from the city. "Fracking Jedi, just because _your_ life's done doesn't mean mine has to be!"

Joclad flung him into the bulkhead, and Elan yelped as his head slammed back into durasteel. "On the contrary," he growled, "it is now."

A thud and a sickening lurch to port was followed by a shriek from the bridge. Joclad and Elan locked eyes briefly before the Jedi released him and ran down the narrow, cluttered corridor that connected the living quarters to the actual controls.

Swyfte and Dack wrestled at the helm, the former grappling with the actual vessel as the latter apparently tried to help. "Over there, bearing -- three-two-six-zero!"

"Stop saying _numbers_!" Swyfte swatted him aside with one hand and handled the controls with the other. "I don't operate that way!"

"Sorry!" Something struck the ship, and an alarm went off near the back of the bridge. Swyfte made unhappy noises and flipped a series of switches that hopefully connected to the shield generator. Dack grabbed at the controls again. "I'm just trying to _help _-- "

This time, she slapped his hand. "Well, _don't_!"

"What's happening?" Joclad asked, though he read Swyfte's signature easily enough: Something was coming.

"Attack cruisers. Two of them." She managed to keep her voice relatively calm in spite of the situation, which suggested either a stout heart or severe delusions of grandeur. Daytime morphed into twilight as stars materialized, and the _Wanderer _jolted most unbecomingly from a now-familiar turbolaser strike.

_Hah_. Joclad leaned a hand against the bulkhead. _I just did this yesterday!_

Swyfte made a displeased sound. "_Annnnnnd_ a gunship's following us! Motherk -- "

"Arden forgot to disable their communications," Joclad guessed. The deck under his boots swayed and rumbled somewhat ominously as Swyfte ran what she clearly thought were evasive maneuvers.

In truth, all she was really accomplishing was knocking around anyone not strapped in. In that regard, she flew rather like Dack.

"Arden didn't _forget _to do anything," the woman snapped from behind him. "They had backup generators, clearly."

"I could have told you that," he said as the ship pitched backward.

The look on Arden's face when he glanced at her suggested she dearly wanted to smack him. "Then why didn't you?"

Swyfte shoved Dack off her and pushed the throttle forward. _Wanderer _spiraled up, up, up, enough for the gravity to waver slightly. Joclad forced his stomach to go back down where it belonged and then lost his balance as the ship snapped sharply to starboard. New pain blossomed across his back as he slammed against the back bulkhead, and something vaguely pointy jabbed at his neck. "Reverse the stabilizers!" he called, pleased to see Arden trying to untangle herself from a similar predicament. The scream of the engines grew louder, overpowering his eardrums. If someone didn't do something soon, they'd just blow. _Damned overpowered Corellian ships. _"Swyfte, _reverse the kriffin' stabilizers!_"

"Shut up and let me fly!" But her left hand released the controls long enough to adjust something, and the roar of the engine dimmed somewhat. _Good. Good. Don't kill us before we can get away. _

"Something big coming up on the sensors," Dack said, his eyes glued to the readout. "_Really _big. I recommend we run away."

"Noted," Swyfte said. "Believe me, we're trying."

_Must… strap… in…. _Joclad pried himself away from the bulkhead and fumbled for one of the chairs. _Wanderer_ bumped and jostled, and Swyfte let loose with another piercing shriek. "_What the kriff is that_?"

Joclad settled for clutching at the back of the chair, and looked out the window.

A massive, wedge-shaped vessel came sailing out of the shadow of the planet. It was a good deal larger than any of the attack cruisers Joclad was familiar with, though he thought he vaguely recognized the design. "Oh..." he paused awkwardly, eyeing the rounded shield generators with respect. "...is that the new destroyer…?"

Palpatine had promised a fleet of them for the Jedi. _Brilliant starships, _one of the designers promised. _Enough firepower for effective orbital bombardment. We won't have to risk the clones anymore... _

One new destroyer was worth three of the old attack cruisers, or so the rumor went.

"Uh-oh," Dack said.

Joclad supposed that meant the rumor was fairly widespread.

Swyfte responded to that comment by taking the ship hard to port. Joclad dug his fingernails into the jumpseat and leaned to the right to keep from smashing into the machinery on the other side of the bridge. The artificial gravity overcompensated, and the _Wanderer _gave a low, rumbling moan of protest.

"Gods, I'd forgotten how badly you fly under duress," Dack muttered.

Swyfte's aura burned white-hot as she concentrated on her task. "I'd like to see you do better."

Joclad leaned toward the sensors. Arden _had_ missed at least one of the gunships, and he suspected their missiles were the reason for the shrieking alarm. "Take us straight up," he said. "The gunship behind us can't follow -- their stabilizers will blow."

"I can't push it that hard unless you want _our _engine to blow!"

"It's a racer!" Dack yelped as he struck his hand against some piece of machinery. "It's _meant _for crazy stunts!"

"We'll _fry_!"

Joclad grabbed Swyfte's collar and pointed at the two bright specks that symbolized approaching cruisers. The fact that he could no longer _see _the new destroyer made him feel somewhat better, though the long-range cannons on those things were supposedly among the best ever created. "We'll fry if you _don't_!"

"Let go of me, you _nizhe _-- "

He reached over to simply yank her out of the chair. "Hell, I'll do it _myself_--"

With a frustrated screech, Swyfte slammed her hand down on the throttle and hauled the controls straight back. The _Wanderer _accelerated rapidly as it tilted back, and over the sudden howl of the engines came the din of everything not bolted down plummeting to the back of the ship, including the unfortunate Rodian and the howling Sleazebaggano.

Joclad reached out with his mind, hunting out a road that wouldn't get them vaporized. The Force revealed a haze-draped path to follow, one that he wasn't at all sure was correct. _This is not my game, this is not a fight... but it is. It's a fight to survive. _He stretched further, and the path glowed a little brighter. _Well, I hope the Force isn't lying. Then again, if I get this wrong, we won't know_.

He pointed out the window. "That way."

"What?" Swyfte whispered. "That's no way -- "

"_That way_!" He lunged across the bridge and slammed his hands around hers, and he wrenched the controls as he'd indicated. Swyfte issued a snarling threat under her breath as the _Wanderer _twirled fully into Coruscant airspace, and a second later, sporadic turbolaser fire splattered across the space where the ship had been.

Swyfte caught her breath. "Let _go_ of me, I can't fly when you -- "

"Then _fly_," he snapped. "Before you get us all killed!"

"You're on _my -- _" Swyfte shoved the _Wanderer _through a hasty pattern of loops that she'd probably seen in a holoflick somewhere. " -- _boat_, Jedi! Arden, where are we going?"

_Yes, Arden, where are we going? _Joclad was about to decide he didn't really prefer daring escapes when it occurred to him that he was placing his fate in the hands of a woman who might or might not be a myth. _I...am in deep trouble. _

"Give me a minute," she replied. She spoke the same way she always did: completely unhurried, and seemingly without a care in the galaxy.

"We'll be bantha fodder in a _minute_," Dack said. The Corellian's voice sounded almost distant, and when Joclad swung around to better look him over, he realized Dack was nearly tranced out of his mind as he tried to overstretch his power. _You're not going to make them go away, Meridian. Kit would throw a fit... _

"Coordinates are set," Arden called. "Feel free."

Joclad released Swyfte, and the little pilot hit another button. The sensors flared bright red a a s the destroyer moved within targeting range, but aside from a shudder and a grimace, the _Wanderer _showed no sign of sudden distress.

And then the stars became starlines, and slowly, abruptly -- he realized they'd done it.

He stepped away from the pilot's chair and retreated to the back of the room. _Sithspit. That was…that wasn't very good, was it?_

Aside from the ticking of machinery and the heavy breathing of the pilot and two Jedi, the bridge was absolutely silent. Arden, per her habit, just looked bored.

Slow, tottering footsteps pushed their way forward. "What _happened_?" Elan asked, clutching his hands to his head. Blood ran freely from underneath his grimy-looking fingers. "Did we crash?"

"Devona just had a little panic attack," Joclad said. "Not much else."

"Do us a favor, Danva, and stop talking," Dack said tersely. Joclad raised an eyebrow: _Protective of her, aren't you, Meridian? _But out of respect for their daring escape, he kept his mouth shut. No need to harangue the pilot further.

Swyfte slumped back into her chair, her hands pressed to her mouth. "I can't ever go back to Coruscant, can I?"

"Not for a few years," Arden said. "No great loss. Too congested."

Joclad realized he knew quite a few Jedi Masters who would envy Arden Lyn's detachment from the galaxy. Or _had known_, at one point. They were probably fairly detached from things themselves by now. _Well, most of them always dreamed about becoming one with the Force. Now they are. _

Dack punched the pilot's arm lightly. "Nice flying, Swyftie. Better than I could do."

She snorted. "_That_ goes without saying."


	16. Lost in Space

_**Jedi of Gondor - **Thanks for your review! I'll try to reply to a couple of your points via message, but what I can respond to here is that Joclad, even before the war and Order 66, was likely not the model Jedi. They called him Code-breaker for a reason. ;) Granted, I don't think that the Order would encourage therandom beating of officers as stress relief but Master Danva might think otherwise..._

_And yes, that was a blatant LOTR reference!_

_**Wellingtonboots - **I'll message you also with some Vastor info. He's from the extended universe. _

_I meant to get this chapter (and the one that follows) out earlier this week but I was on a Mac that this website didn't like. So, am sorry for the delay. Enjoy! _

_I dedicate this chapter to my grandfather, who passed away on March 28th. He's likely the reason for my (and my family's) longtime love affair with Star Wars. _

_---------------------_

_15. Lost in Space _

_An unknown starship believed to be carrying Jedi fugitives blasted out of Coruscant early this morning, evading a host of gunships and the new Star Destroyer _Immolator. _Details are not yet forthcoming, but Commander Wilhuff Tarkin is confident that the ship will soon be in Imperial custody..._

The holovid droned on, and Sabé Ralter tried to ignore it. Nothing on Coruscant could have prepared her for the full implications of Order Sixty-Six. Nothing at all.

She'd left the general on the cruiser. The general was likely dead. The Republic _was _dead. And Padmé Amidala…

…was gone.

Not indisposed or busy or visiting friends and relatives. Not going for a walk or taking her little ship for a relaxing flight. She was just _gone. _And she'd taken Typho _and _one of the handmaidens with her.

At least she'd thought of her own protection.

Now, as Sabé sat in the office of one of Padmé's only political confidants and replayed the events of the prior day and a half in her mind, she wondered if she was simply having another caf-induced dream, and all of this nonsense would go away once she woke up.

But when she looked out the window, the smoldering ruins of the Jedi Temple would still be there – and she was, after all, awake.

Sabé stared across at Bail Organa and tried to make sense of the words currently coming out of his mouth. "I still don't understand. Jedi don't _rebel_."

"I agree," Senator Organa said. "But much of the galaxy does not. The actions of a few of them…have decided the fate of many." Sabé knew he must be talking of the _Darksiders, _those Jedi who turned on their own and seemed to delight in causing havoc -- _Dooku, Billaba_ – and so many others….

Still, they were but two. _Two, out of how many thousands?_ She pursed her lips. "The Chancellor acted rashly."

"Emperor," he corrected her listlessly. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of his office at the ruined building, his shoulders slumped. "Be careful of what you say. This is a dangerous time, Captain Ralter. We must be cautious."

Padmé had always held Bail Organa in exceedingly high regard. Sabé had been away on military campaigns during most of the Nubian Senator's interaction with him, but she knew him to be a fair man, and friendly with the Jedi Order. The weight of the man she'd rescued – or perhaps left to die in a bad part of the city – rested squarely on her shoulders, though she longed to tell someone of it. Anyone. Even Bail Organa of Alderaan would do. _Just so I don't have to bear it alone, and be the one traitor in all of the Core Worlds..._

But was he trustworthy?

She decided to test him. "Do you think any escaped?"

The way he lowered his head suggested he didn't think that at all. But all he said was, "I hope so."

She thought of the weary and bloodstained knight she'd dropped o o o ff the night before – _gods, it seems so long ago – _Danva, yes, that was him. Had he made it to wherever his shelter was? Or had he simply dropped dead after she left? He hadn't seemed far at all from doing exactly that when last she saw him. Her mind then drifted to another Jedi, one she'd known far longer – and there it was.

Fear.

Fear for her friends amongst the venerable Order. Fear for those she knew who might not take Palpatine's command to destroy the Jedi so easily. Worse, fear for – or _of_? – those who _would. _

_Fear has a time and a place_, Privos had told all of the handmaidens when he first began their instruction. _It gets you nowhere, and it might get you killed if you indulge it at the wrong time. Wait until you're safe. Then be afraid. If you must. _

The hilt of one of her vibroblades peeked out of its sheath on her thigh. Sabé resisted the temptation to whip it out and hurl it at one of the expensive-looking sculptures that decorated the office – gifts from planetary dignitaries, she imagined, but enticing targets nonetheless.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

She tore her gaze away from the 'blade. "I'm just thinking." She paused, and wondered how to best broach the subject. "Of my friends there."

"Anakin Skywalker," Bail said. He turned around to face her, and his features were markedly tight. "General Kenobi."

"Yes." Her throat felt raspy. _Anakin is gone, Padmé is gone... _But she pushed ahead. "And Padmé – Senator, _where_…?"

"So you noticed." He sighed heavily and sat down. "I knew she and Anakin were friends, so I contacted her when I – when I saw the temple. She didn't answer. She was at the... _announcement_... but I am to assume she left immediately after..."

"I found her handmaiden at the apartment, alone," Sabé said. Memories of bullying the poor girl into disclosing Padmé's departure almost made her smile – almost. _At least I'm still effective militaristically. _"She said Padmé and Typho left right after. They didn't say why."

And Sabé had missed it all wandering the undercity for answers. _Stupid broken-down speeder... _

Organa drummed his fingers against the armrest. "I could make a general inquiry about her health… perhaps she went back to Naboo…."

The naïve little girl inside of her hoped that was indeed the case, but Sabé shook her head. "She would have contacted me. Or responded to my hails. I spoke to her last night, Senator, while the temple was burning…I didn't realize it at the time, but she must have _seen _it." The words came easier now, and softer. "She sounded…she sounded terrified."

"None of us were particularly _excited _about it, Captain," Organa reminded her. "There wasn't anyone dancing on the street. The planet – the entire _planet—_"

"I know," she said. "But there was something else." She paced to the other end of the room, admiring the varnished frames around Ithorian artwork. Pale colors rippled and changed as the sunlight hit them directly, creating a sort of dream into which she could submerge herself. "Something…I did the math, Senator, and the temple was burning for at least two hours before I heard from her. She must have seen it before…why did she _wait_?"

Organa didn't immediately respond. Sabé held her breath and hoped he'd take the bait.

When he turned back to look at her with his sad dark eyes, she realized he had.

"I'm going to tell you something, Captain Ralter," Bail Organa said. "I'm going to tell you this because Padmé always trusted you, and so did Obi-Wan Kenobi. Through that, _I _trust you."

He beckoned her to sit with him in front of the window, and when she did, he began to speak.

-------------------

Two hours later, Sabé marched from the Senate building, her mind a muddled soup of half-finished thoughts and connections. She kept her composure until she reached the bridge of the _Spindrift_, and there she sat for several minutes, running her fingers over the controls.

_A decision such as this must not come lightly, _Bail had said. _Regardless of what you believe or what you think you know – if you do this, you will end up marked. We all will._

Sabé clenched her hands around the accelerator. _I'm already marked. Always was. _She reached for the comm and punched in Ric's code, then managed a smile as the pilot's face popped up on the screen – a smile that vanished as she took in Ric's semi-panicked expression. "Ric?"

"_Captain_! What happened? Where's the Senator?"

"I have to go find her, Ric," she said, her voice soft. "I need the _Spindrift _awhile longer."

The strain must have shown on her face, for Ric's expression immediately changed from semi-panicked-but-worried-compatriot to one-time father figure. "Sabé, _chalie_, what is it?"

"Something terrible has happened." She dared not say more; she had no idea how much access to the news Ric or the rest of the crew possessed. But the man nodded in understanding.

"The Jedi, right? And – Captain – the General— "

"Dead," she guessed. _Poor thing. I should have brought her with me. _

"No…" Ric hesitated. "The, erm, _clones_ – they started fighting. Some of them didn't want to shoot her, and, well… that gave her time…."

"She got away?" Sabé's jaw nearly fell open. _That makes three! _"What's happening now?"

"Not much. We haven't been recalled yet. Seems they forgot about us out here." He made a face, but then grew somber. "Besides, Rabé likes being in charge."

"Good." Who knew how long she might stay that way? "Ric, I'm going to find Padmé. And – I don't want you to believe everything you hear. About anything."

Ric frowned a little, and the laugh lines around his eyes suddenly no longer looked like laugh lines. "What've you gotten yourself into, Ralter?"

"I don't know yet," she told him honestly. "When I do, I'll…tell you." _I think. _

"Do you need help?"

"No. Not yet." _I can't ask this of you yet. _"Just your blessing and your ship."

"You always have my blessing," he said automatically. "And – well, you've already _got _my ship, so I can't do much about that anyway."

She tried to laugh, but not much came out. Instead she nodded. "I'll be in touch. Don't blow up the cruiser."

"That would be bad."

She signed off, and started powering the _Spindrift _up. Her military clearance obviously hadn't been questioned yet; she made it through the ring of attack cruisers without trouble. She did spare the imposing-looking _Immolator _a single long stare and tried to imagine what it would feel like to see that thing barreling down from the stern of a much smaller starship.

She shivered, and hurriedly made the jump to lightspeed.

------------------------------

Lightyears flashed by as the _Wanderer _ran full-throttle through hyperspace, and Dack wondered why someone had not yet harnessed the power of faster-than-light and used it for something _useful_…like time travel.

_I'd go back in time_, he thought as the little ship rattled slightly. He propped his head up in his hand and stared at the starlines, lost in his daydreams. _I'd go back in time and fix things, somehow… find a way to make it all be right again..._

"So," a weary-sounding Elan Sleazebaggano said from the back, "how did you and Devi here meet?"

_When in doubt, make harmless small talk. _Dack chuckled thinly. "You want to tell him, or shall I?"

"We met in a prison cell," Devona said. "What, six years ago? Seven?"

"Might've been more. I hadn't been a knight for more than a couple years, so it must be... nine?" _My my, time warps when you're flying a fast ship. _He thought about turning around to smile at her, but decided the motion would take too much effort. Besides, it might disturb his knee.

There was an awkward pause as Elan digested the information. "Wait. You met in _jail_?"

"Phony charges," Devona said over a faint clanging noise from the engine room. She leaned over to check one of the scopes, but otherwise did not seem terribly concerned. "Complete falsity."

"I thought you admitted to them," Joclad said. He'd planted himself in one of the rear jump seats.

"Because they were threatening me!"

"Hey, Elan, you got any more of whatever you put on my knee before?" Dack had an unpleasant feeling that whatever antibiotics Elan had managed to drag along quite likely didn't include strong painkillers, but he'd take what he could get. "It hurts again."

"Yeah, buzz, let me go check." The Balosar skipped out, probably to drop another deathstick before digging out something for a pained Jedi Knight. _Ah, well. Let him do what he wants. Can't hurt at this point. _

Devona muttered a complaint and fiddled with one of the onboard computers. "Might have to check the stabilizers..."

The rattling continued, and grew louder. _Didn't this ship have a pretty smooth ride last time I was on her? _Dack lifted his head from his hand as his chair started vibrating, and looked up at the pilot. "Hey, should the ship be shaking like…?"

"_Frack!_" Devona leaped out of her chair and shot down the corridor. She'd barely vanished down a maintenance shaft when the _Wanderer _quaked violently, sending Dack scrambling to hold on to the armrests as the starlines fizzled back into stars. _Wanderer _tore downward, her artificial gravity unable to compensate for an unexpected fall out of lightspeed.

Dack grabbed the controls and tried to haul the ship back up onto a standard course, all the while locking his legs beneath the seat to keep from floating upward. The stars sputtered and twisted as he dizzily attempted to slow the _Wanderer _down – to no avail. The ship spiraled, her engines making horrible _clunk-THUNK _noises astern.

"Some kind of space-time flux?" he asked, reaching out with the Force. _No, not space-time. Feels almost… mechanical... _

A finger reached out and touched a button.

_Wanderer_'s engines mercifully stilled into their sublight power, and the ship's balance evened out. Dack scarcely dared to breathe as he turned to stare at Joclad, who looked mildly amused by the entire thing.

"So." Dack felt it was alright to breathe again. "What was that?"

"The ship wanted to go back into hyperspace," his friend said. "And kept trying."

He just stared. "But what did you _do_?"

Joclad looked back evenly. "I turned off the hyperdrive."

"Oh." Dack cleared his throat. _Be more observant, Meridian. _"Good idea."

"I thought so, too."

He glanced outward at the stars. "About the space-time flux…."

"I won't say anything."

He was about to smile, but was interrupted by an enraged shriek from the engine room. "Fracking son of a _Sith_! Pureed riddle-monkeys in crimson robes tap-dancing by the light of the demon moon!"

"_Damn._" Even Joclad was impressed by that.

"Oh, tell me it can't get worse…." Dack limped down to the shaft, where Arden had already made herself useful with a fire extinguisher. "What happened?"

Devona jumped down from the upper level, something molten cradled in her hands. Joclad chuckled thinly from the corridor. "I think it got worse."

The little pilot held out the melted piece of metal and appeared to swell to at least three times her normal size. With her flashing eyes and reddened face, she became, for a brief moment in time, the most physically terrifying thing Dack Meridian had ever seen. "_ELAN!" _

Elan crept out of the 'fresher. "Y…yes?"

It took Joclad all of two seconds to hold out his hand. Elan squeaked and sailed right into it, and the tall knight lifted him off the ground so that they could see eye to eye. "Elan, you've been a _bad _Balosar…."

"Excuse me." Devona tugged on Joclad's tunic. "_I _get to yell at him first."

Joclad appeared to consider this, and then nodded. He put Elan down and stepped graciously aside. "By all means."

Devona grabbed the alien's collar, slammed the converter down on the table, and shoved Elan's face at it. "_Explain_!"

"Uh," the Balosar said. "I don't know much about ships…."

_This is going to be a long one_, Dack thought, and sat down gingerly on an overturned cargo box. He'd play mediator if things got nasty, but with tensions running as high as they were, it might be best to let everyone blow off a little steam….

"So you don't know what caused this…_mysterious _malfunction?" Devona asked. Dack half-expected her to hurl the drug dealer against a wall, or maybe shoot sparks out of her eyes. _Angry women really _are _kind of scary...especially short ones. _

"No, I -- "

Devona – or Captain Swyfte, now – turned away. "Do what you want with him, Danva," she said.

Dack straightened up. "Devi, that might not be a good idea..." He trailed off as he realized no one was listening to him.

"She said it was the highest quality!" Elan squeaked as Joclad approached. "It'd last us at _least _as far as Corellia!"

Joclad wrapped his fingers around the Balosar's neck and smiled unpleasantly at him. "We're not _at_ Corellia, in case you didn't notice."

_All right, this is getting out of hand. _But all that came out of Dack's mouth was a mumbled "stop it."

"Maybe it was sabotage," Devona said darkly as she looked at the molten lump. "Someone was onto you."

_Dev, you're really not helping here…. _Dack watched in horrified amazement as Joclad simply lifted Elan off the ground again. This time, he didn't bother stopping at eye level: Elan just kept on going up. And up. And suddenly the Balosar was dangling in midair, fingers tearing at Joclad's firm grip.

The man from Ord Mantell seemed unmoved. "Maybe he _did _make a few calls while I was deathed out." He must have tightened his grasp, because Elan's next words came out in a choked protest.

It took Dack only a second to study the maddening grin on his friend's face and decide that Joclad was having problems. "Put him down," he said, struggling to his feet. "This isn't worth killing each other over." Besides, the last thing they needed was Knight Danva choking the life out of the comic relief.

"He broke my _ship_," Devona said. But all the anger seemed to go out of her as Elan went from red to a strange shade of mauve. "Stop, you're _killing _him -- "

Dack lurched forward. "Put him _down_, Joclad," he said again, wondering if he had the strength -- if he had the _ability – _to take a 'saber to the man if he had to.

The thought disturbed him.

"I didn't! I swear it!" Elan's feet kicked wildly as he tried to squirm free.

"If it was sabotage of an Imperial nature," Arden said coolly, "the Empire would be upon us by now."

The truth of her words made them all go still, with the exception of Elan. He grabbed at Joclad's wrists and kicked as best he could. "Yeah, _listen_ to the Teräs Käsi Master…."

"You wanted to get off the ship," Joclad said, his tone flat. Dack sensed he was about to start tightening his grip, and leaned forward.

"Put him down, Joclad…."

"Of course I wanted to get off the ship!" Elan's eyes bugged out, and his antennae spun frantically. "I _live _on _Coruscant!_"

And Joclad – Joclad just…was he snarling or _smiling_?

"Joclad." Dack drew on the Force as best he could to amplify his voice. "Put him _down_!"

Joclad stayed very still for an instant, and the Balosar in his grasp drew in a curtailed, wheezing breath of air as his fingers loosened. Then the Jedi slowly -- _reluctantly_? -- set Elan back on his feet. The dealer scrambled backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Devona immediately crouched next to him, her eyes all but glued to Joclad, and probably not without reason.

Dack studied his friend, uncertain what to make of this new streak. Joclad had always been prone to recklessness, but lashing out at hapless tagalongs was not one of his traits. Dack reached out cautiously through the Force and touched a whirling pool of blackness before Joclad noticed, narrowed his eyes, and flung up a powerful mental shield.

Dack winced. _Way to be a pal, Danva. You might want to get that dark thing in you looked at... _

Devona patted Elan on the head and stood up, looking distastefully at the melted converter. "I guess we're floating at the moment. The sublight engines are all right, but it'll take us weeks to get anywhere -- " Elan made a small, strained sound, " -- and I don't know about sending out a distress signal, seeing that we have you…_people_."

_Well, everything's back to normal then. _Dack wiped his hand across his brow, mentally calculating the odds of a Repub -- _Empire _vessel coming across Swyfte and her group of outlaws. The _Wanderer _was one of thousands of swift Corellian racers, but if anyone had gotten the vessel's identification numbers, they were all in big trouble. Then again, Devona's previous run-ins with the law might have prompted her to wipe the numbers entirely -- Dack reminded himself to check on that. For the moment, though, he had other concerns. "Is there anyone we can call?"

Arden nodded. "There is. But I don't know how far off she is, or how long it will take her to get here." Nonetheless, she slipped soundlessly into the bridge, the door shutting behind her. Dack decided it was easier to trust the crazy Teräs Käsi lady rather than question her.

An odd feeling bubbled at the back of his skull, anxiety and anger mixing together to form some sort of potent emotional cocktail. He suspected the epicenter of the sensation might well be emanating from Joclad, who stared grimly at a spot on the bulkhead. Dack rubbed his knee and tried not to cringe as he felt the bandage under his torn trousers scrape against his skin. "So we wait."

"What do we do with the Rodian?" Devona asked.

Dack hesitated. "I -- can we spare any food for him?"

She shrugged. "We have enough stores for a few days, I guess, but no more than that. If anyone's on a weight-loss program I'm sure you'll all be very pleased."

He grunted, and once again tried to probe the dark depths that he'd seen in Joclad. The shields, as he expected, were still up. "We'll just have to make do, then," he said. "Jedi are good at making do."

----------------------------

It did not take long for the masses to turn on their one-time guardians.

Roughly two thousand Jedi had led battalions of clones into war. Another five thousand were spread thinly across the galaxy, some without access to holovids or the datanet. Some felt the tremors in the Force, some did not.

Slowly, painfully, they began to learn.

Palpatine's words had done their job well, poisoning much of the goodwill citizens of the galaxy still harbored for their on one e-time protectors. Ordinary citizens used antiquated weaponry, swarming on anyone who dared carry a lightsaber. Jedi Knights -- unaccustomed to battling mere civilians -- often went down without a fight rather than kill a sentient being.

The remaining Jedi felt the deaths as they piled up, and the darkness encroached further.

Eventually, they understood. They had no more friends. Their allies, if they could be called that, had to look after their own first.

The temple's all-clear broadcast had changed, warning them away. Someone, at least, had gotten in and closed off the trap.

And so they hid.

What the commoners failed to do, Darth Vader took care of himself.

The cloaked figure came into cities and towns and villages by night. He scaled mountains, swam through water. He crossed deserts and soared through atmospheres. He always found them.

There were other Agents of Darkness, familiar faces of long-ago, turned and manipulated by some thread of malice. They came as well, ending the lives of old friends…compatriots…family.

But there were none so feared as the man with the dark cloak. Whispers spread through the galaxy of this Dark Lord, the mysterious Vader.

The Jedi trembled.

----------------------------------------

As the galaxy went dark, Joclad Danva stared out one of the portholes and desperately tried to control the _thing_ howling inside him.

It demanded action. It wanted blood. It warred with his better side, screaming that the extermination of his friends -- his _family -- _would continue until he _did _something.

_I can't do anything_. _I'm stuck on a broken ship in the middle of nowhere. _

But rational thoughts didn't seem to last very long these days.

_You failed in the temple, _the thing whispered._ Do not fail again! _

Depa did not believe in failure. Her Chalactan philosophy -- of the Seeker existing exactly where he should -- had comforted many during the void left by the war. _We are all meant to do exactly as we ought, _she had told him over lunch before her final mission. _Right where we are is where we are meant to be. This thing called failure… _She had lifted one slim hand, flicked it dismissively. Joclad had watched the motion, entranced by her voice. …_it does not exist. _

Yes, they were words of comfort for a better time.

_I _failed_ though, Depa, _he thought, and Cin's broken lightsaber flew into his hand. _There's nothing else you can call it. I failed you. I failed him. I failed everyone. _


	17. Adrift

_Wellingtonboots - he didn't Force-choke him...he just did the regular ol' Homer Simpson throttling with two hands. :) _

_16. Adrift (AKA This Really, Really Sucks) _

_-----------------_

As it turned out, being trapped aboard a smallish starship with four other people and a captive Rodian did nothing for anyone's mood.

For his part, Joclad sat in the main room and stared at anyone who walked by. Elan skulked away whenever he caught sight of him, and eventually took to running through the room when he had to go through at all. Devona tried to ignore him as she brought a platter of food down into the cargo hold, where they'd left the Rodian to rot after Dack's attempted negotiations failed.

But mostly, Joclad's interest remained fixed on Elan. _Ah, little Elan. _The Balosar all but trembled whenever he laid eyes upon the Jedi Knight, but the sensation of his fear through the Force didn't feel as good as it had before.

He supposed that was a good thing, considering the state of his mind. Jedi were supposed to be keeping the peace, not terrorizing underlings.

_Then again… I will be needing a new job… provided I survive all this. What would I be good at?_

"Devi!" Elan shouted from the 'fresher. "The hot water's gone!"

"You were using the _water_?" Devona wailed from the bridge. "This ship doesn't _hold _that much!"

"I couldn't figure out how to turn on the sonic setting!" Elan poked a head out, spotted Joclad, and quickly withdrew. "I'll just, uh…I like cold showers."

_Hmm… maybe law enforcement on Nar Shaddaa? There must be _plenty _of opportunity there..._

Joclad found himself contemplating the issue of a new occupation as his erstwhile companions scurried back and forth through the ship. Every now and then, mechanical-looking items were shoved into his hands and he did his best to fix them; having a distraction, something to _do _seemed to take his mind off the rage, off the _beast _that gnawed at him.

But invariably the thing was repaired, and the beast came back.

_Joclad won't fall to the Dark Side_, Cin had said years ago. Master Windu had expressed some concern over Joclad's aggressive fighting, and had sent newly knighted Depa down to test him. The Korun Master looked much relieved when Drallig told him otherwise. At least, until the swordsman followed up with _he'll plummet._

Depa had knocked Joclad out an instant later, necessitating th at he stay at the healer's ward for the rest of the day.

He'd thought it was a joke. They all did. The teräs käsi helped him control himself, disciplined his mind and body to quell the raging beast within. He'd gone so long without hearing it whisper...without wanting to lash out. The temple fight….

He realized it now: It had unlocked some long-hidden door, and now the thing stirred -- a venomous snake uncoiling in his soul.

_Maybe you knew me too well, Master Drallig._

He felt the tug. Knew what it was. Resisted it. _I'm not a monster. I will not turn like Skywalker. _

_You could have saved them. All of them. You could have saved _her

He stood on the edge of a slippery slope, and wondered if he were powerless to stop his slide.

---------------------------

One by one, fires in the Force went out.

Palpatine smiled.

------------------------------

/Greetings, Jedi….\

He wasn't sure when the dreams started. All he knew was that he hated them.

This one began in darkness, and he tasted his fear all around – in his bloodied mouth, in the narrow confines of what was meant to be a sleeping bunk. Hiding in the back of the cell did no good. The monster just kept coming.

His legs didn't work rightHis back felt as though he'd slept on vibroblades. Everything ached. Something huge and dark and blurry stalked back and forth at the edge of his vision, delivering sharp barbs to his mind through the Force.

He tried to scramble back against the wall. _Get away from me!_

/Get up and fight.\

Oh, how he wanted to. His hands scrabbled for a weapon that was no longer there -- his _hands_, refusing to function as well. _Leave me be… please, stop it..._

/Find your power.\

The Force! Where was it? He called for it, begged for it to help him --

/Where is the great strength? Where is the war-winner?\

The Force swirled just outside his typical range of use, dark and whirling and devastating. Fragile glass separated him from it, a mere arm's reach away. He could shatter the glass so easily and claim it as his own….

_No! Not again! I won't do it again!_

Something rough grabbed for his foot, and no amount of kicking earned his freedom.

_Reach for it_, a raspy voice whispered. _Save yourself through darkness._

A fist came from the darkness, and the strength of the impact hurled him against another wall. The pain -- so different, yet the same as the _other _pain – the _real _pain – _this can't be real, can it?_ – but another fist, another jarring of bones and muscle and mind. _Why are you _doing _this?_

/They will kill you if you don't.\

Power. It was there. He could end it all right now if he wanted.

/You should not die yet…\ With the mental caress came the promise of revenge and the blood of his enemies – _yes – _tasting so sweet as it ran down his fingers—

_NO! _He looked around wildly. _I can't use the Force that way! Not again! _

But was he arguing with himself, or the monster?

_Well, _his semi-conscious self observed, _at least it's not Geonosis again. _

Huge, scarred hands closed around his neck, and the galaxy went dark.

------------------------

Joclad was on his feet before the dream fully ended, and Dack leaped out of the bunk opposite him with a blaster in his hand. "Easy there, Danva."

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and tried to stop shaking. "Bad… bad dream…."

Dack nodded, and put the gun down, prompting Joclad to wonder if he'd parted with it at all since getting aboard the ship. "I figured. What happened?"

"I was getting beat up." Even admitting it felt odd. He looked down at the fingers of his left hand, which still responded slower than they usually did. They hadn't worked at all in the dream. _Nothing _had worked. _Maybe I'm just trying to scare myself. _

"_You_?" Dack's eyebrows went up.

"I know!" He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his upper arms, trying to chase away the chill that had settled into his bones. "A huge man. I tried to fight him, but…he just kept on pounding me and pounding me and I couldn't… I couldn't really fight back..." He didn't have the heart to tell his friend about the rest of the dream, of the dark power that he recognized as his own. Dack would never understand such a thing.

The Corellian looked mildly concerned. "I wonder what that means. We need a dream analysis." He sat cross-legged on his bunk, much like Master Leryna did when she gave counsel to war-weary commanders. Unlike Master Leryna, Dack's much-practiced Jedi Look of Wisdom was not what Joclad would call sincere. "We'll start with the obvious. Have you angered any big men recently?"

Willing to play along for the sake of getting his heart rate down, Joclad gave it some thought. "Metaphorically or literally?"

"Good question." Dack made an exaggerated show of stroking his chin. "What did he look like?"

"Big, dark, shaved head..."

"Mmm. Maybe this is an anxiety dream. You're afraid all that black hair you're so proud of is going to turn gray and fall out after what you experienced."

_That is strikingly unfunny, Meridian. _Still, Joclad picked up a strand of hair and inspected it. "No, I really don't think that's it…but come to think of it, he looked a bit like Master Windu."

"_Ohhh_." Dack nodded knowingly. "This may just be repressed childhood fears, then."

Joclad snorted. "Speak for yourself. _I_ was never afraid of Master Windu."

"You were, too." Dack folded his arms and smirked at him. "You used to hide with the rest of us when he came to visit our clan."

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did! Behind the fountain in the floating forest." The smirk turned into a smug grin as Dack stretched back out on his bunk. "We were eight or so. Bear Clan forever! Or were we the Nexu Clan? Wait, maybe we were something else entirely…."

Joclad dimly recalled running around with the other children in the floating forest, and yes, there it was -- the imposing presence of Master Windu strolling toward them, his head glistening intimidatingly in the artificial sunlight. The younger Joclad hid up a tree. The older version stuck his nose in the air. "I was just making sure you guys didn't…run away."

"Oh, please. We'd have stayed hidden, too, if you hadn't set Depa's hair on fire. Way to give away our position."

Joclad gaped at him, nightmare briefly forgotten. "I never set her _hair _on fire!"

Dack sighed deeply. _That, _Joclad decided, _is the sigh of a man who thinks I'm an idiot. _"You two were at each other's throats the entire week prior," the Corellian explained. "Both of you climbed up into one of the big trees, and I guess you decided you didn't much like her right then, and you set her hair on fire."

Joclad just found himself staring. "Which begs the question: _what _did my eight-year-old self set her lovely tresses ablaze _with_?"

His friend shrugged. "Your lightsaber?"

He remembered arguing with Depa in the tree -- something about whether or not it was always green, or if it shed its leaves like the other species -- but try as he might, setting her hair on fire did not come to mind. Though admittedly it was an idea his younger self probably would have entertained now and then. "I'm not remembering the fire part. And I don't think I'd stick my lightsaber so close to her head, even if we _were _just kids."

Dack shook his head but looked gently amused by it all. "I think you've got a case of selective memory going on, Danva, but I can't blame you."

The pause deepened into a silence, and Joclad abruptly realized that Dack had purposely left him an opening. _I knew this was coming… sooner or later we have to say something about…it. _He supposed the time might as well be now. "Dack."

"Hmm?" Dack picked at some lint on his pillowcase.

"How're you...you know..." Joclad hunted around for the right words, and settled for the excruciatingly boring. "…holding up?"

Dack was quiet for a few seconds. "I -- I guess I'm all right." He turned his head to better look at Joclad. "I don't think it's fully sunk in yet."

Joclad refrained from making the snappy remark that came to mind: _The temple sank it pretty far for me. _Instead, he nodded. "Better that than panic, I guess."

"Panic's supposed to be trained out of us by the time we're twelve," Dack said. He propped himself up on an elbow. "What about you?"

Joclad didn't answer.

Dack's mouth quirked up into a sad smile. "Joclad, the temple -- "

"It was awful," he said abruptly. "It was just -- it was awful. There was fire and blood and death everywhere." He longed for sleep, but inwardly dreaded what nightmares might return now that he'd acknowledged the event. "Skywalker, he just...it was a _rampage_, Dack. A rampage. So many died…and I _felt _them dying…like Geonosis, but…so much _more._" There. He'd said it.

"You got away," Dack said quietly.

Joclad chuckled bitterly. "To what point? I'll be hunted wherever I go, I'll -- "

"_We'll_," Dack said. "_We'll _be hunted. Us, and other survivors."

"We don't know that there _are_ others," Joclad said, mostly to see if he could get a rise out of the other man. "What if we're it?"

"We _aren't_."

"But -- "

"We are _not _the last Jedi," Dack snapped. "All right?"

Joclad conceded the point, as it seemed quite important to the other man. "We're considered traitors. Outlaws. Maybe even lower than Sleazebaggano. What do we have to live for? Gods, I almost _wish _I'd died in the temple -- "

"_Danva_..."

" -- if only so I wouldn't have to see what happens next." Joclad lay back down and hoped the blurred monstrosity would not return. "Because I know I'm not going to like it."

-------------------------

The days passed, and his dreams grew more troubling. Visions of Cin and Depa and even Jocasta Nu's disapproving glare filled his mind, along with a dozen other faces he'd known as well as his own. Roth-Del Masona and Kit Fisto discussed matters of great importance in a temple corridor. Depa argued with her cousin Sar over the origins of the Billaba surname. Joclad knew what it all was, even as he observed these dreams from a safe distance. _Just going through the back files is all..._

But there was one dream…one dream that repeated now and then. It invariably hitched itself to his memory of Cin observing a training session, though he sensed by the time _this _situation took place, several hours had passed. Several hours, and a large amount of sweat, taunting, and general sparring – he _knew _that, and remembered it. But what happened after….

Lightsabers fell to the floor with solid-sounding clanks. Yes, it was a good thing Cin had departed; he'd throw a fit over the treatment of the weapons.

His companion looked startled as he grasped her upper arms. _What are you -- _Her voice was cut off as he pulled her close, and she did not seem to know what to make of his smile. Every time the scene replayed, the startled look on her face was the same -- _exactly _the same, right down to the spark of delight in her eyes that she tried to hide.

Though Joclad would be the first to admit he was enjoying himself, he had no idea what he was doing in the sparring room again -- or why his mind chose to continue replaying this scene. All that mattered was that he felt _happy_, and the woman opposite him – startled though she may have been – was happy too. She warmed to his advance after the initial shock, and he relished the sudden closeness of her -- the _feel _of her pressed against him. _Gods, I should do this more often…._

His dream-self recalled feelings that Joclad Danva, Jedi Knight, had no real experience with. But the _other_ emotions – he knew some of those. Elation and longing mixed together as small, delicate fingers wound their way into his larger ones, and even if he did not know what he was doing or where he was -- maybe even _who _he was -- he was right where he was meant to be.

And so were his lips, as he tilted her chin up so he could kiss her.

She tasted of their afternoon meal: cheeka fruits and some sort of soup that they'd both managed to choke down against their better judgment. Beyond that, she tasted of all the things he had ever desired….

And the one thing forbidden to them both.

_This might qualify as attachment, _he either thought or whispered. The concept was as tantalizing as it was dangerous.

_Code-breaker, this might be too far, even for you..._

His conscience speaking? Or something else?

_We can't do this, _she said. His temper prickled; if they really _couldn't_, then this wouldn't be _happening_.

_But we already are_. And now he _was _touching a face -- _her _face -- and wondering why he'd never done this before. He silenced the rest of her conversation swiftly; if he kept his mouth on hers, it meant she couldn't make other valid points.

Somewhere in his deeply buried conscious, he knew there was little validity to this dream. _Just a fantasy, after all. _The way he learned how she tasted, what she liked -- none of it real. But it was so very vivid….

_It's almost like a memory, _he said to her. _Like a memory from long ago... _

He leaned back a little to get a better gauge of the situation. More of the scenery came into focus: He had her between himself and the wall, and her hands now clutched the front of his tunic. The woman in front of him looked almost sad as his fingers slid down her throat, brushing against the rapid pulse he felt there.

Rapid because of _him. _

_Joclad…you shouldn't be remembering this. _

She fizzled into nothingness, and bitter frustration stabbed at him when the dream ended entirely, throwing him back into the waking world.

He ran a hand across his eyes. The dream had ended the same way for better than three days now, repeating over and over again whenever he tried to sleep. _You'd think if I were good at fantasizing, I'd at least give myself a happier ending…or a more satisfying one. _But instead she stood in front of him and went away again, vanishing like she had in the temple -- until he woke up with a lightsaber hilt clenched in his hand and a readiness to start destroying things.

He set the 'saber aside, and rolled onto his back. _Force, drown out my dreams. _

He closed his eyes again but had barely sunk into the opening stages of sleep when he saw the familiar confines of the room. _Fine! Don't! _

He sat up with a scowl. So now even rest was denied to him. _Is there anything left? Anything at all?_

Memories of his bouts on Bunduki filtered through his damaged psyche, and he realized there was one thing he could still do.

-------------------

The little _Wanderer _drifted, dependant upon a savior that still did not come.

Joclad slipped down to the cargo hold, flicking off the lights as he went. He approached the shadowed, gaunt-looking form of the Rodian and stood there in front of it until the officer awoke.

The alien started upon seeing his boots, and then squirmed into a sitting position. The remains of foliage sat on a plate beside him. "What -- what do you want?"

Joclad showed the Rodian a 'saber hilt. "Do you know what I am?"

The Rodian nodded.

"So you know this can take off your head without _any _problems."

The Rodian nodded again.

"And I could also rip your head off with just my hands, if I wanted to. Which I might do anyway. Because let's face it, you wouldn't mind doing the same to me, would you?"

The Rodian just stared at him, and its eyes widened until he suspected they might well roll right out of their sockets. _That would be funny. _

Delighted by the fear emanating from the would-be stowaway, Joclad ignited the blue blade and sliced it sideways a few times. "Stay over here, and maybe I won't kill you."

So he went through every kata he knew -- teräs käsi and otherwise -- some with one blade, some with both, some with none. He gave into his anger as he battled the demons only he could see, and his rage lasted long through the night -- through the morning -- until the Rodian was a quivering pile of terrified green flesh, and the beast at last said, _Fight it, fight harder..._

Joclad stopped once for water, and stared at the Rodian as the recycled liquid ran down his throat. _You'll regret the day you turned on the Jedi, you greenish pile of nerves…. yes, you'll regret it. You _all _will._

Then he began again.

-------------------------------

No one dared stand in the way of Lord Vader. No one dared accompany him. He took his missions alone, eschewing the help of clones or people. Offers of kindness were rejected. Few saw the face beneath the black hood - but all saw the bright yellow eyes and the cruelty within them.

Odd, then, that someone dared _pursue _him…

------------------------

Devona Swyfte had lost track of how long they'd been out there when some sort of Nubian-looking ship pulled up alongside.

"Arden!" she called over her shoulder. "We got one!" _Now come tell me what to do so I don't get us all killed._

"Come in, _Wanderer_," the Nubian called over the audio line. The pilot sounded female, and somewhat hoarse. "You've got an engine problem?"

"Yeah, among other things," Devona said. Instinct told her to beg off, but they were out of food and nearly out of water. Joclad was off terrorizing their guest, and Dack…well, Dack had said before that getting in Joclad's way wasn't very smart. "Got any spare converters that won't fry our system?"

"Maybe. I have a handy astromech unit, too. Where are you headed?"

She glanced at Arden as the other woman arrived, and immediately decided she didn't like the odd little smile on her face.

Arden leaned forward, effectively taking command of the com. "We're headed to Palawa, Sabé."

Devona half-twisted around in her chair to gape. If she'd been mildly concerned about an inter-Order war _before_, she was downright terrified that such a thing might happen _now. _Arden Lyn, Master of Teräs Käsi, planned to risk the _entire Order – _maybe even the _entire galaxy _by bringing _Jedi _to _Palawa_?

And she, _Devona Swyfte_, was _piloting _the ship they flew on? Gods, she might as well sail the _Wanderer _into a black hole.

"You can't do that," she said. "You can't be seriously thinking of _Palawa..._"

"I don't recall consulting you on the matter," Arden said.

"Palawa?" Sabé Ralter echoed from the comm. station. "Is that a good idea?"

"_No_, thank you," Devona said. "I'm not taking you and a bunch of Jedi to _Palawa_!"

"Then you can go sit in the cargo hold with our resident representative of the Empire. I don't particularly care." Arden sat down in the co-pilot's chair and started flicking switches and buttons. "Sabé, get that astro-droid of yours ready. We've no time to waste."

"He's all set," Ralter said. "But – _Palawa_?" There was a beat as she absorbed the information. "Wait – you've got _Jedi _with you?"

"Jedi on Palawa...I need to get my will in order." Devona half-turned her chair, but then realized she'd be leaving Arden alone on the bridge if she departed. _Damn it! How did I get myself into this? _"Arden, this is a _bad idea_."

"They kill outsiders, don't they?" Ralter continued.

"Among other things," Devona said, burying her face in her hands. "Don't take us to Palawa. Anywhere but there. I _hate _Palawa."

From behind her came the tentative clearing of a Balosarian throat as Elan made his appearance. "Uh – I heard something about killing outsiders?"

"Dig into your drugs," Devona said glumly. "We're all going to die."

Arden huffed. "You have such little faith in my protective abilities."

"They haven't gotten us too far lately, have they?"

"You're alive. Don't complain."

"So!" Elan clapped his hands together, apparently deciding to ignore the whole _killing outsiders _slant the conversation had taken. "What's Palawa?"

"The home base of the Teräs Käsi Order, such as it remains," Devona said. She flicked a few switches as Ralter's shipboard computer attempted to make contact with the _Wanderer_. While she was at it, she opened up a plain document and wondered who she should will all of her belongings to. Arden had just gotten herself written out of the running, but maybe Dack would have use for a fast spaceship to run away from Imperials with...when it worked.

Arden shook her head. "I do wish you wouldn't call it a _base_. It sounds so... militaristic. Or juvenile, depending on which inflection you use."

_Hmm. Dack will probably get killed along with the rest of us. Who do I know that's not on this ship that is worthy of my stuff? _It was a pertinent question, and quite frankly, she couldn't think of a lot of people who deserved a nice vessel like the _Wanderer. _"Hey, Ralter, if we all get killed, do you want my ship?"

"Um..."

Ralter was spared the need to speak further as Arden let out an exasperated sigh. "We're not all going to get killed. I can handle whatever they toss at us."

"I'm just remembering the situation on Nar Shaddaa," Devona said. "You handled _that _real well."

"Come to think of it, there was a _situation _on Corellia, too," Ralter said. "Similarly-handled, I'm sure."

"Yeah?" Devona turned away from her will and looked at the audio output with new interest. "You had a situation?"

"We did."

"How did that end up happening?"

"Elan, go find the Jedi," Arden said, pointedly ignoring the side conversation. Devona imagined that this Ralter – whoever she was – probably had a lopsided grin on at this very moment. "Sabé, we've been drifting for awhile. What news do you have?"

"I have plenty of news," Ralter said. "And none of it's good."

Devona sighed and flopped back in her chair. "That just figures."


End file.
